A  CHILD  OF 
TUSCANY 


MARGUERITE  •  BOW 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY 


BY    MISS    BOUVET. 


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A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  CO.,  CHICAGO. 


A  CHILD  OF  TUSCANY 


BY 


MARGUERITE    BOUVET 


fig 


WILL   PHILLIPS    HOOPER 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  AND   COMPANY 
1899 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  MCCLURG  AND  Co. 

A.    D.    1895 


AU  Rights  Reserved 


PREFACE. 


T  HOPE  that  you,  my  dear  young  readers,  may  some 
•*•  day  have  the  good  fortune  to  know  the  quaint  and 
beautiful  city  where  I  have  laid  the  scene  of  this  little 
story ;  for  among  all  the  cities  of  Europe  there  is  none 
more  interesting,  and  which  people  learn  to  love  better, 
than  Florence,  —  "  Florence,  the  fairest  and  most  famous 
of  the  daughters  of  Rome!"  as  Dante  calls  her.  You  have 
doubtless  seen  on  your  maps  that  Florence  is  situated 
in  the  northern  part  of  Italy.  It  is  a  city  of  noble 
antiquity,  having  existed,  some  historians  tell  us,  as  early 
as  the  Roman  period.  In  the  twelfth  century  it  was 
already  the  most  important  town  of  Tuscany,  and  after- 
wards became  the  capital  of  the  independent  duchy  of 
that  name;  and  there  the  princes  and  dukes  held  their 
court.  In  1 86 1  all  the  provinces  of  Italy  were  united  into 
one  kingdom  under  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  the  court  was 
removed  to  Rome,  1870.  But  Florence  is  still  visited 
every  spring  by  many  of  the  nobility  of  Europe,  on  account 
of  its  delightful  climate,  its  rich  art  galleries,  and  its  many 


10  PREFACE. 

interesting  and  beautiful  old  palaces.  And  I  shall  feel 
happily  repaid  if  anything  I  have  said  in  this  little  vol- 
ume has  awakened  in  you  an  interest  in  the  lovely  city 
and  its  charming  people,  and  a  desire  to  visit  its  many 

treasures. 

M.  B. 

FLORENCE,  May,  1894. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

THE  STRANGE  LITTLE  FAMILY 19 

"IT  WAS  LUIGI  AND  HIS  BROTHERS" 35 

"  THERE  HE  SAT  UPON  THE  STEPS  " 47 

"WHAT  is  SHE  THINKING  OF!" 63 

FAUSTINA  CARRYING  AWAY  THE  CHILD 69 

CAMILLO  AT  THE  VEGETABLE  STALL 79 

"  HE  CLASPED  HIS  HANDS  AND  FELL  ON  HIS  KNEES  BEFORE 

HER" 93 

"GET  ALONG,  YOU  OLD  FRIGHT!" 103 

PORTA  ROMANA 14! 

"  SHE  is  MY  —  MY  —  I  DON'T  KNOW  WHAT  FAUSTINA  is  "  .  145 
"  THERE  !  YOU  CAN  SEE  THE  KING  NOW,  WITH  HAT  IN 

HAND" 159 

"  CAMILLO  ENTERED  AND  MADE  HIS  BEST  Bow  "  ....  169 

"Tnis  is  THE  VILLA  BARBORELLO!" 191 

"  IT  is  OUR  LOST  CHILD,  O  HOLY  SAINTS!" 195 

COCO  AND    MlNNETTO 205 


A  CHILD  OF  TUSCANY. 


AUSTINA  and  Raffaello  lived 
alone  in  a  small  hut  just  beyond 
the  village  of  Galluzzo;  not  quite 
alone,  for  there  was  Minnetto. 
Faustina  was  a  very  tall,  dark-eyed,  hard-faced 
woman ;  Raffaello  was  a  small,  curly-haired  boy ; 
and  Minnetto  was  the  cat,  a  Tuscan  cat,  with 
a  beautiful  coat  of  maltese  gray,  a  monstrous  head, 
and  big  sleepy  eyes,  and  a  long  bushy  tail  that 
resembled  the  plumes  on  the  Florentine  soldiers' 
caps,  whenever  he  encountered  a  neighboring  dog. 
Raffaello  and  Minnetto  were  the  best  of  friends ; 


14  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

they  were  about  the  same  age  and  very  nearly  the 
same  height.  For,  when  Raffaello  stood  up  near 
the  table,  of  a  morning,  to  eat  his  bread  and  milk, 
and  Minnetto  placed  his  two  front  paws  on  the 
little  boy's  shoulders,  and  stretched  his  long  neck 
to  get  a  sniff  of  the  good  breakfast,  their  two  heads 
were  almost  on  a  level.  As  to  Faustina,  she  was 
not  a  very  genial  companion  ;  she  never  played  with 
them,  or  fondled  them,  or  called  them  by  any  loving 
names ;  but  she  took  care  of  them  both,  gave  them 
what  she  could  to  eat,  and  she  was  not  unkind. 

Minnetto  did  not  mind  this  at  all.  He  was 
happy  if  Raffaello  let  him  lie  in  the  warm  sun,  and 
did  not  stroke  his  fur  the  wrong  way ;  and  he  would 
purr  for  hours  with  his  head  buried  in  the  bend  of 
Raffaello's  little  arm,  and  never  seemed  to  find  fault 
with  his  destiny.  But  not  so  with  Raffaello.  He 
often  wondered  how  he  and  Faustina  happened  to 
be  living  in  this  lonely  way  together,  who  he  was, 
and  what  he  was,  and  why  she  was  not  his  mother, 
and  why  he  had  no  brothers  and  sisters  like  little 
Luigi  yonder,  at  the  village,  but  only  Minnetto  to 
play  with,  who  was  a  good  friend  in  his  way,  but 
only  a  cat  after  all,  and  who  could  not  talk  with 
him,  or  understand  him  when  Raffaello  tried  to  take 
him  into  his  confidence.  He  had  lived  with  Faus- 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  15 

tina  and  the  cat  ever  since  he  could  remember  any- 
thing, and  Faustina  had  always  grumbled,  and  the 
cat  had  always  blinked  indifferently  at  her,  and 
Raffaello  had  always  wondered  at  the  strange  little 
family,  and  how  he  came  to  be  a  member  of  it. 

There  was  one  thing  that  puzzled  Raffaello  very 
much.  The  other  people  in  the  village  who  were 
poor  lived  in  great  stone  houses  that  were  old  and 
dismal,  all  huddled  up  together  like  a  great  many 
bees  in  a  very  big  hive ;  and  all  the  children  played 
and  romped  together  in  the  dingy  courts,  and  set 
up  such  a  noise,  that  he  and  Faustina  would  often 
hear  them  of  a  summer  evening,  as  they  sat  upon 
their  stone  steps ;  and  the  women  would  chat  with 
one  another  from  their  windows ;  and  sometimes, 
when  any  wandering  musicians  happened  to  be 
passing  through  the  town,  everybody  would  flock 
out  into  the  streets,  and  dance,  and  dance  till  late  in 
the  night,  —  young  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  in 
their  quaint  peasant's  dress,  whirling  round  and 
round  like  gay  windmills,  while  the  old  men  sat  on 
boxes  and  barrels  along  the  wall,  smoking  their 
pipes,  and  enjoying  the  frolic  as  if  they  never 
minded  about  being  poor,  and  were  all  as  happy  as 
people  could  be. 

But  with   Faustina,  Raffaello,  and  the  cat,  it  was 


1 6  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

very  different.  They  never  mingled  with  the  simple, 
light-hearted,  good-natured  people  at  the  village,  or 
joined  in  any  of  their  festivities.  They  lived  in  a 
very  small  hut  of  stone,  which  stood  quite  a  dis- 
tance down  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  all  the  news 
they  got  of  the  doings  of  the  people  at  Galluzzo 
was  what  the  little  streamlet  brought,  as  it  came 
laughing  and  tumbling  down  the  rocky  race  to  turn 
the  big  wheel  of  the  mill  hard  by.  Faustina  never 
went  to  the  village  save  to  buy  some  necessary,  like 
a  bit  of  cloth,  or  a  spool  of  thread,  or  a  lace  needle  ; 
for  their  wants  were  very  few,  and  their  purse  was 
very  slender.  But  they  had  their  own  goat,  which 
supplied  them  with  milk,  and  a  bit  of  a  garden  on 
the  sunny  side  of  the  hut,  that  gave  them  a  few  vege- 
tables in  the  spring,  and  a  little  fruit  in  the  sum- 
mer, just  enough  for  their  own  small  needs.  In  the 
winter  they  did  not  fare  so  well ;  but  they  managed 
to  get  some  of  the  ground  grain  from  the  mill  for 
their  meal-cakes,  and  Faustina  made  very  good 
cheeses,  and  they  lived  even  better  than  most  of  the 
poor  folk  in  the  country  round  about. 

The  village  •  people  had  nothing  good  to  say 
about  Faustina.  They  were  envious  of  her  because 
she  could  live  in  a  little  home  of  her  own,  and  had 
means  enough,  however  small,  to  be  independent 
of  her  neighbors.  Some  said  she  was  vain,  and  felt 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  17 

her  quality,  because  many  years  ago  a  well-to-do 
worker  in  stone  from  the  city  had  come  and  mar- 
ried her.  She  was  young  and  pretty  then  —  they 
called  upon  the  good  saints  to  witness  that  she  had 
once  been  pretty,  with  almond-shaped  black  eyes 
and  apple-red  cheeks,  though  no  one  would  suspect 
it  now,  Santa  Maria !  And  she  had  not  been  too 
proud  to  dance  and  feast  with  them  on  her  wed- 
ding-day. But  he  had  taken  her  off  to  the  city  to 
live  with  him,  and  that  had  given  her  such  notions 
of  grandeur  that  she  could  no  longer  mingle  with 
old  friends  at  the  village,  but  must  have  a  hut  all 
to  herself,  though  the  good  Saint  Peter  alone  knew 
how  she  ever  scraped  up  enough  to  pay  the  rental 
every  year,  and  she  must  needs  put  on  airs  and 
shun  her  old  companions  as  if  they  had  been  a 
pestilence,  they  said. 

It  was  well  enough  to  be  proud  and  disdainful 
of  one's  neighbors  when  one  had  one's  own  hut  to 
sleep  in,  and  could  dig  one's  own  turnips  and  arti- 
chokes; but  this  not  having  any  friends  looked 
very  ill  to  the  genial  people  of  Galluzzo.  A  cat 
and  a  slip  of  a  boy  were  her  only  companions  — 
well,  she  might  better  have  been  a  hermit,  and  have 
done  with  it !  and  let  the  boy  and  the  cat  enjoy 
themselves  elsewhere. 


1 8  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

There  were  those  who  thought  Faustina  must 
have  committed  some  wicked  sin,  and  that  she  was 
living  alone  in  this  solitary  and  mysterious  way  for  a 
penance  ;  others,  who  were  not  so  sour-minded,  said 
she  had  broken  her  heart  when  her  husband  and 
her  own  little  boy  had  died,  and  that  she  could  not 
bear  to  see  others  happy,  with  their  children  and 
loved  ones  around  them  ;  and  that  she  had  taken 
the  boy,  that  he  might  work  for  her  and  support 
her  when  she  grew  old  and  disabled.  However  all 
this  might  be,  Faustina  minded  them  no  more  than 
the  cat  minded  her,  and  she  cared  not  a  fig  for 
their  opinion.  All  that  she  asked  was  that  they 
should  leave  her  in  peace,  and  not  stop  too  long  to 
pry  into  her  garden  on  their  way  down  the  road, 
and  not  lure  Raffaello  with  sweetmeats  to  talk 
about  things  he  did  not  know. 

One  evening  the  three  were  seated  round  the 
little  table  in  the  kitchen,  eating  their  supper.  I 
say  the  three,  for  Minnetto  was  regarded  as  one  of 
the  family,  and  Faustina  would  not  have  sat  down 
to  a  meal  without  him  any  more  than  without  Raf- 
faello. It  was  the  early  spring-time,  and  they  had 
not  yet  lighted  the  candle.  Faustina  had  walked 
to  and  from  the  city  that  day,  as  she  did  sometimes ; 
and  as  it  was  a  long  distance  off,  she  was  weary 


"  The  strange  little  family." 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  21 

and  cross  when  she  returned.  But  she  had  brought 
home  a  little  cake  for  which  she  had  parted  with 
some  of  her  strawberries,  and  she  was  cutting  it 
into  exactly  three  pieces  as  she  addressed  Raffaello 
and  the  cat. 

"  Now  what  have  you  done  all  day,  you  two  idle 
ones,  while  I  have  been  blistering  my  feet  to  sell  a 
few  cents'  worth  of  berries  to  buy  you  bread,  and 
cake,  too,  cake,  indeed  !  for  a  bimbo l  who  cannot 
earn  a  centessimo ; 2  and  a  cat  who  does  nothing 
but  eat  and  sleep,  and  never  cares  where  the  next 
meal  is  to  come  from  ?  "  As  she  spoke  she  flung  a 
third  of  the  cake  into  each  plate,  and  without  wait- 
ing a  reply,  turned  suddenly  upon  Minnetto,  who 
had  fallen  with  both  paws  upon  his  piece  and  was 
gnawing  at  one  corner  of  it  with  great  relish  :  "  You 
don't  deserve  a  morsel,  you  lazy,  yellow-eyed  mon- 
ster !  I  found  a  mouse  in  the  grain-bag  to-night. 
How  long  is  it  since  you  've  caught  a  mouse  ?  " 

Minnetto  went  on  munching  at  the  brown  cake 
and  purring  contentedly,  winking  his  golden  eyes, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Little  do  I  care  for  the  mice  in 
the  grain-bag.  I  'm  too  fat  to  run  after  them,  and 
too  well-fed  to  want  them  !  " 

Raffaello  sat  looking  at  his  cake  without  tasting 

1  A  little  boy.  2  One  fifth  of  a  cent. 


22  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

it.  He  never  took  Faustina's  grumbling  with  the 
same  philosophy  as  Minnetto.  He  had  listened  to  it 
very,  very  often  ;  there  was  scarcely  a  day  that  Faus- 
tina did  not  scold  about  something ;  but  he  could 
not  grow  used  to  it  and  not  care,  like  Minnetto,  — 
that  was  only  the  difference  between  being  a  boy 
and  being  a  cat.  Her  words,  especially  when  they 
were  reproachful,  always  made  him  sad  and  sorry ; 
and  he  thought  to-night  how  tired  and  worn  she 
seemed,  and  how  hard  she  really  worked  to  get  the 
little  money  they  needed  to  live  and  pay  the  land- 
lord, and  he  was  wondering  how  he  could  help  her, 
and  in  what  way  he  might  earn  a  few  soldi  to  give 
her,  for  she  said  so  often  that  he  was  of  no  use  to 
her. 

"  What  are  you  gaping  at  ?  "  said  Faustina,  sharply, 
seeing  that  Raffaello  was  thinking.  "  Why  don't  you 
eat  your  supper !  Ecco*  have  you  been  up  to  some 
mischief,  and  has  your  conscience  got  into  your 
stomach,  to  make  you  sniff  at  a  good  brown  cake 
just  fresh  from  the  baker's  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  Faustina,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  cat  for 
a  witness,  "  I  have  been  a  good  bimbo  all  day.  I 
have  fed  the  canary,  and  fetched  some  wood  from 
the  road,  and  watered  the  artichokes,  and  picked 

1  A  favorite  exclamation  of  the  Florentines. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  23 

more  berries  to  send  —  to  take  into    the   city  to- 
morrow." 

"  To  take  into  the  city !  "  repeated  Faustina,  in  a 
vexed  tone.  "  It  is  easy  to  say  '  take  into  the  city ' 
when  somebody  else  does  the  walking.  It  takes 
feet  to  go  to  the  city,  good  stout  ones,  too,  and  if 
one  isn't  a  mule,  one  cannot  go  every  day  to  earn 
a  half-franc !  " 

"  I  know,  Faustina,  I  know  it  makes  you  very 
tired ;  and  I  wish,"  added  Raffaello,  hesitating,  "  I 
wish  you  would  let  me  go  instead,  and  sell  the 
flowers  and  the  strawberries." 

"  You  !  "  cried  Faustina,  bringing  her  knife  down 
upon  the  table  with  such  force,  that  even  Minnetto 
jumped.  "  You  !  what  would  you  do  in  the  city  but 
get  lost,  and  turn  my  hair  white  with  searching  for 
you  !  Florence  is  not  like  Galluzzo ;  it  has  a  hun- 
dred streets,  not  one,  and  you  would  be  a  dead 
bambino^-  before  you  had  walked  half  the  way,  you 
little  pumpkin-head  !  " 

"  I  could  go  with  Luigi;  He  has  a  cart  and 
donkey,  and  rides  to  town  on  all  the  festa  days. 
He  would  take  me  with  him,  and  teach  me  the 
streets,  and  bring  me  back  in  the  evening ;  he  has 
said  so." 

1  Baby. 


24  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  Humph  !  Luigi,  Luigi,"  retorted  Faustina,  shrug- 
ging her  big  shoulders,  "he  has  a  long  tongue,  has 
Luigi !  He  has  been  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  to  bring  a  piece  of  fowl ;  the  pad- 
rona  sent  it  for  our  dinner  to-morrow." 

Faustina's  black  eyes  gleamed  suspiciously.  The 
padrona  was  Luigi's  mother,  one  of  the  few  women 
at  the  village  who  thought  charitably  and  pitifully 
of  Faustina,  and  she  would  often  send  one  of  her 
boys,  on  a  Saturday,  with  some  bit  of  her  cookery, 
a  rib  or  two  of  sheep,  or  a  half  of  a  young  rooster, 
or  some  such  dainty  to  make  the  Sunday  more 
cheerful  for  Faustina  and  the  little  boy.  But  Faus- 
tina was  afraid  of  her  kindness,  and  seldom  touched 
any  of  the  gifts  herself,  dividing  them  between  Raf- 
faello  and  the  cat,  so  fearful  was  she  of  establishing 
friendly  or  intimate  relations  with  any  of  her  old 
companions  at  Galluzzo. 

"  And  he  put  the  silly  notion  in  your  head,  did 
he  ? "  resumed  Faustina,  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  she  seemed  to  have  been  thinking  unpleasant 
thoughts. 

"  I  spoke  to  him  first,"  said  Raffaello,  "  and  asked 
him  why  he  went  so  often  to  the  city,  and  he  told 
me  that  he  carried  the  milk  and  butter  there  for  his 
mother,  who  cannot  go  herself  on  account  of  the 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  25 

bambino ;  and  that  now,  when  the  flowers  are  com- 
ing out,  he  and  his  brothers  would  stop  on  their  way 
down  the  hill  to  gather  a  basketful  of  violets  and 
lilies,  and  take  them  to  the  piazza1  to  sell ;  and  that 
sometimes,  they  came  home  with  their  pockets  full 
of  soldi,  which  they  gave  to  their  mother.  And  I 
said  I  would  like  to  go  to  the  city  and  sell  flowers, 
and  bring  the  money  to  you." 

Raffaello's  little  face  had  grown  quite  flushed  with 
the  ardor  of  his  good  intention,  and  his  dark  eyes 
looked  up  earnestly  and  appealingly  at  the  hard  face 
across  the  table. 

"  It  is  well  enough  for  Luigi  and  his  brothers  to 
go  to  the  city,  and  come  back  with  their  pockets 
full  of  soldi.  They  are -big  country  lads,  much  older 
than  you,  and  brazen-faced  young  rascals  who  are 
not  ashamed  to  beg  when  they  have  nothing  more 
to  sell.  You  are  not  a  beggar,  do  you  hear !  we  will 
starve  first,  but  you  shall  not  beg."* 

Here  Faustina  gave  Minnetto  a  frightful  tweak 
of  the  ear,  for  no  reason  at  all  that  Raffaello  could 
see,  and  Minnetto  promptly  repaid  her  with  a  re- 
vengeful spat  of  his  paw,  and  went  on  with  his 
supper  as  indifferently  as  before. 

Raffaello  did  not  quite  understand  what  Faustina 

1  Public  square. 


26  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

meant  by  these  last  words.  He  had  often  heard 
her  say,  "  It  is  only  the  lazy  common  folk  who  beg. 
You  do  not  belong  to  the  common  people,  and  you 
shall  never  beg,  while  I  live  to  prevent  it."  So  he  had 
come  to  regard  begging,  in  his  little  mind,  as  a  very 
wicked  and  unworthy  thing,  and  would  never  have 
thought  of  doing  it  if  Faustina  had  not  repeated  this 
so  often.  But  he  could  see  nothing  wrong  in  his 
wanting  to  serve  Faustina  as  Luigi  and  Giulio 
served  their  mother,  and  his  little  head  was  full  of 
the  thought. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  go  with  Luigi,  Faustina,  once 
every  week,  before  Sunday  and  on  the  festas,  I  will 
bring  home  enough  soldi,  perhaps,  to  buy  all  we  need ; 
and  when  I  am  as  tall  as  Luigi,  I  will  buy  you  a 
little  cart  and  mule,  and  then  we  can  ride  to  the 
city  together,  and  you  need  never  get  tired  any 
more."  He  had  left  his  place  at  the  table,  and  was 
standing  quite  close  to  Faustina's  side,  with  a  demure 
look  of  entreaty  that  sat  strangely  upon  his  childish 
face. 

Faustina  did  not  take  any  notice  of  him  at  all. 
She  went  on  eating  her  bread  very  fast,  and  taking 
great  gulps  of  milk,  without  saying  a  word  for  several 
minutes. 

"If  they  should  lose  him,  Santa  Maria!  if  they 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  27 

should  lose  him  !  "  she  muttered,  not  addressing  any 
one,  "  and  he  should  fall  into  worse  hands  than  mine, 
and  I  could  never  find  him,  or  dare  search  for  him  ! 
O  Heaven  !  what  a  mad  thought! "  and  she  smoothed 
the  wrinkles  from  her  forehead  with  the  coarse 
towel  on  her  lap,  and  pushed  Raffaello  away  from 
her,  but  not  impatiently,  and  said  aloud,  "  Go  sit 
upon  the  door-steps  and  count  the  fireflies  till  bed 
time.  I  am  not  to  be  troubled  now,  my  head  is  too 
weary.  Go,  you  and  Minnetto." 

Raffaello  obeyed,  and  the  big  cat  immediately 
jumped  down  and  followed  him  to  the  door,  where 
they  both  sat  on  the  old  gray  stone,  Minnetto  lick- 
ing his  chops  assiduously,  and  curling  his  long  tail 
around  his  feet,  for  a  comfortable  meditation  ;  while 
little  Raffaello  pursued  his  own  thoughts  in  the 
quiet  of  the  soft  spring  evening,  and  the  little  river 
murmured  its  winding  way  down  the  pretty  valley 
of  the  Ema. 


J7AUSTINA  remained -at  the 
table  long  after  the  night 
had  settled  and  the  little  hut 
was  dark.  Her  head  had  fallen 
on  her  arms,  which  rested  on  the  table,  and 
she  seemed  to  be  asleep ;  but  she  was  not. 
She  was  only  thinking,  thinking  so  silently,  so 
deeply,  that  Raffaello  did  not  dare  to  disturb  her 
when  he  came  in.  He  closed  the  outer  door  very 
gently,  gave  Minnetto  one  or  two  love-pats,  and 
slipped  quietly  into  the  little  closet  which  was  his 
sleeping-room. 

Raffaello  was  a  very  little  boy  as  yet,  but  his  living 
with  two  such  wise  and  tried  philosophers  as  Faus- 
tina and  Minnetto  had  made  a  very  sage  of  him  for 
his  years.  Yet  he  had  no  great  cares  on  his  mind, 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  29 

no  great  troubles  in  his  heart,  no  fearful  dread  of 
the  future,  and  no  sad  memories  of  the  past.  He 
was  not  unhappy ;  for  although  Faustina  spoke 
gruffly,  and  was  not  over  gentle  with  him,  she  never 
maltreated  him,  or  willingly  made  him  suffer.  Her 
only  thought  seemed  to  be  that  he  should  want 
nothing,  and  she  toiled  for  him  early  and  late,  and 
spared  herself  no  hardship,  that  he  might  have 
enough  to  eat  and  wear,  and  that  he  might  not  look 
like  the  ragged  little  beggars  of  the  city  and  village 
streets.  Raffaello  did  not  have  that  same  fondness 
for  her  which  he  might  have  had  for  a  tender 
mother  who  would  have  fondled  him,  and  loved 
him,  and  spoken  gentle  words  to  him,  and  taught 
his  young  heart  to  open  freely;  but  he  was  at- 
tached to  her,  as  children  are  to  those  who  protect 
them,  and  cared  for  her  as  well  as  he  knew  how  to 
care  for  any  one.  And  to-night  he  was  full  of  the 
idea  of  doing  something  for  her,  of  helping  her  to 
earn  their  livelihood,  and  saving  her  tired  feet  by 
using  his  young  ones  in  their  stead,  for  he  knew  that 
Faustina  was  very  poor.  "  Perhaps,"  he  thought, 
as  he  lay  upon  his  straw  mattress  in  the  dark,  "  if  I 
could  sell  flowers  in  the  big  city,  and  earn  enough 
soldi  to  buy  the  grain  every  week,  it  would  make 
Faustina  happy,  and  she  would  not  be  cross  any 


30  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

more."  And  when  he  fell  asleep,  his  thoughts  suf- 
fered no  interruptions,  for  he  dreamed  that  he  and 
Luigi  were  already  started  for  Florence,  and  that  on 
their  way,  they  came  upon  a  vast  field  of  daisies, 
and  when  they  stooped  to  gather  the  flowers,  they 
saw  that  in  the  heart  of  each  blossom  there  was  a 
small  round  coin  of  gold,  like  the  one  Faustina 
kept  locked  in  the  tin  box  beside  her  bed,  only  that 
hers  had  a  hole,  with  a  chain  through  it.  And  he 
dreamed  that  they  filled  their  baskets  to  the  top 
with  the  bright  pieces  and  brought  them  home,  and 
when  Faustina  saw  them,  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
kissed  his  hands,  and  cried,  "  O  Raffaello  mio ! l 
you  are  rich,  you  are  great,  and  they  will  take  you 
from  me ! " 

And  this  was  only  his  dream.  But  what  was 
really  true,  was  that  far  into  the  night,  when  Raffaello 
was  sleeping  soundly,  and  the  battered  Madonna  at 
his  bed-head  seemed  to  be  smiling  a  watch  over 
him,  and  Minnetto  was  curled  up  into  a  dark  bun- 
dle beside  the  ashes,  snoozing  with  one  eye  open,  as 
was  his  habit,  Faustina  had  crept  to  Raffaello's 
couch,  and  was  kneeling  beside  it,  and  kissing  his 
hand  indeed,  and  saying  in  a  low  voice,  "  He  wants 
to  work  for  me,  Dio  mio  !  for  me  !  the  poor  dam- 

1  My  Raffaello. 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  31 

bino,  and  so  little,  so  little  !  O  Raffaello  mio,  you 
are  rich,  rich,  and  they  will  find  you  out  and  take 
you  from  me  !  " 

She  kneeled  there  for  a  long  time,  praying  to  the 
Madonna  above,  and  looking  at  the  face  of  the 
sleeping  child,  so  peaceful  and  unconscious ;  and  no 
one  saw  or  heard,  not  even  the  cat,  who  was  accus- 
tomed to  Faustina's  nightly  tread  about  the  rooms, 
for  everything  was  sleeping  except  the  bright  star 
that  twinkled  through  the  casement,  and  shed  its 
mysterious  light  on  the  sleeping  child  and  the  pray- 
ing woman.  If  any  one  could  have  looked  in  be- 
sides the  star,  he  would  have  seen  that  Faustina's 
face  was  not  so  hard  now,  and  that  she  hung  over 
the  little  boy  as  tenderly  as  if  she  had  been  his  own 
mother,  and  that  her  black  eyes  were  wet,  and  her 
lip  trembled.  Faustina  had  her  own  reasons  for 
not  teaching  Raffaello  to  love  her  too  well ;  but 
secretly  she  cherished  him,  and  no  one  knew  how 
much  but  the  star,  who  was  too  far  away  to  tell  of 
what  it  saw,  sometimes,  in  the  night. 

The  next  morning  was  Sunday,  and  Faustina 
was  up  with  the  sun  to  attend  the  early  mass  at 
the  church  of  San  Gaggio,  which  is  about  half-way 
down  on  the  road  to  the  city  of  Florence.  Raffaello 


32  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

heard  the  jingling  of  her  beads,  as  she  went  out  and 
closed  the  door,  and  immediately  he  was  on  his 
teet,  and  dressing  himself,  taking  up  his  little  pro- 
ject just  where  he  had  left  it  the  night  before.  He 
reckoned  that  Faustina  must  walk  over  a  mile 
before  she  reached  San  Gaggio ;  that  would  take 
nearly  a  half-hour,  although  she  took  long  steps  like 
a  man,  and  never  stopped  to  chat  with  neighbors, 
or  loitered  on  her  way.  Then  the  mass  would 
take  another  half  hour,  and  she  could  scarcely  get 
back  before  the  bells  of  La  Certosa  di  Val1  had 
sounded  the  seventh  hour.  This  would  give  him 
plenty  of  time  to  run  down  into  the  valley  and 
gather  a  basketful  of  red  and  yellow  tulips  and 
white  crocuses  that  grew  wild  along  the  borders  of 
the  brooklet  Ema.  He  took  a  little  osier-basket 
which  hung  in  the  kitchen,  the  one  Faustina  used 
to  carry  her  strawberries  when  she  went  to  the 
market-place,  and  laid  some  fresh  mulberry  leaves 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  that  his  flowers  might  have  a 
moist,  green  bed  to  lie  on.  Then  he  set  out 
quietly,  not  wishing  to  rouse  Minnetto,  who  was 
an  inquisitive  old  pussy,  and  who  would  have  to  be 
coaxed  very  hard  to  remain  behind  if  he  suspected 
any  frolic  in  the  air.  Minnetto  had  not  moved  an 

1  An  old  monastery  situated  just  above  the  village  of  Galluzzo. 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  33 

eye-winker  all  through  Faustina's  preparations  for 
church,  but  when  he  spied  Raffaello's  heels  disap- 
pearing behind  the  lattice,  he  gave  a  sudden  bound 
towards  the  door,  and  mewed  reproachfully  at  the 
disappearing  figure  of  his  little  master.  He  made 
a  gingerly  attempt  to  follow,  but  Raffaello  was 
running  very  fast,  and  the  grass  was  heavily  covered 
with  dew ;  and  Minnetto  detested  the  wet,  so  he 
thought  better  of  it,  and  turned  back  to  his  corner 
near  the  hearth,  where  he  sat  licking  his  paws  and 
wagging  his  tail  in  much  discontent. 

The  morning  was  such  a  bright  one,  the  early 
sun  was  so  warm,  and  the  breeze  was  so  cool,  and 
the  young  grass-blades  sparkled  so  with  their  beads 
of  fresh  dew,  and  the  air  was  so  sweet  with  the  scent 
of  the  olive  blossoms,  that  Raffaello's  heart  was  very 
light,  and  he  wondered  why  it  was  that  he  felt  io 
much  happier  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  He 
was  too  little  to  know  that  it  was  the  hope  of  help- 
ing Faustina  more  than  the  beautiful  spring  morn- 
ing, and  the  sweet  air,  and  the  refreshing  dew,  that 
made  his  feet  swift  and  his  heart  glad.  He  did  not 
know  yet  that  the  one  thing  in  this  world  that 
brings  us  the  truest  happiness  and  the  sweetest 
reward  is  helping  some  fellow-creature  whom 
Heaven  has  placed  in  our  way,  however  young  our 

3 


34  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

hands,  however  small  our  means.  He  was  too 
much  a  child  to  understand  this,  for  he  was  not 
much  more  than  six  years  old,  and  so  little,  so  little, 
as  Faustina  had  said,  that  he  seemed  always  like  a 
baby.  But  I  think  that  somewhere  in  his  childish 
nature  the  seeds  of  that  great  truth  were  firmly 
rooted. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  fill  his  basket  with 
fresh  flowers,  and  return  to  the  hut,  where  he  soon 
made  his  peace  with  Minnetto  for  having  slipped 
away  from  him,  by  making  a  cheery  blaze  with  some 
fagots,  and  putting  the  pot  of  milk  on  to  boil. 
With  these  promising  preparations,  Minnetto  be- 
came quite  forgiving,  and  the  two  were  sitting  close 
together  on  the  floor,  watching  the  steaming  break- 
fast when  Faustina  returned. 

She  was  in  a  better  mood  than  she  had  been  on 
the  previous  evening.  She  was  always  in  a  better 
mood  when  she  came  home  from  the  mass ;  for  I 
think  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  old  church,  and  the 
soothing  tones  of  the  chanting  monks,  and  the 
beautiful  faces  of  the  saints  and  the  Madonnas  that 
looked  down  at  her  from  the  walls  and  windows, 
comforted  her,  and  gave  her  strength  to  pass 
another  solitary  and  friendless  week. 

They  had  just  finished  their  breakfast,  and  Raf- 


It  was  Luigi  and  his  brothers." 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  37 

faello  was  wondering  how  he  would  best  renew  his 
cherished  subject  with  Faustina,  for  he  felt  sure  that 
she  would  not  hold  out  long  when  she  saw  how  much 
in  earnest  he  was,  and  when  he  showed  her  the 
pretty  flowers  all  ready  to  go  to  the  market-place, 
which  she  had  pretended  not  to  notice  when  she 
entered;  when  suddenly  there  came  a  mighty  hal- 
looing and  shouting  from  out  upon  the  road,  as  if  all 
the  children  in  the  village  of  Galluzzo  had  been  let 
loose  for  a  holiday.  Raffaello  and  Faustina  ran  to 
the  door,  to  see  what  it  was  all  about.  It  was 
Luigi  and  his  brothers,  a  troupe  of  noisy,  apple-faced 
boys,  who  were  thus  disturbing  the  peace  of  the 
quiet  Sunday  morning.  They  were  all  crowded 
into  the  little  market-cart,  which  was  drawn  by  that 
most  stubborn,  most  obstinate  member  of  the 
family  of  Italian  donkeys,  Pierrota.  All  the  chil- 
dren were  standing  up  in  the  cart,  except  those 
who  were  tumbling  out  of  it,  and  some  were  pulling 
vigorously  at  the  reins  as  a  hint  to  Pierrota  to  stop, 
which  she  could  not,  under  any  consideration,  think 
of  doing,  she  being  by  nature  more  disobliging  and 
more  contrary-minded  than  any  other  donkey; 
while  the  others  were  shouting  to  Raffaello  to  join 
them,  for  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  city. 
"  Oh,  let  me  go  with  them,  Faustina,"  cried  little 


38  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

Raffaello,  looking  up  at  her  and  clutching  her  dress 
excitedly ;  "  do,  please,  let  me  go,  and  I  will  be 
very  good  and  not  lose  myself !  and  see,  I  have  the 
flowers  all  ready." 

Faustina's  hard  face  was  very  white,  and  her  eyes 
had  a  frightened  look  in  them.  She  did  not  give 
him  a  sharp  no,  as  she  did  sometimes  when  he 
asked  for  anything  she  did  not  approve.  She  had 
not  said  no  at  any  time  about  this,  and  he  felt 
emboldened  to  plead  yet  a  little  more. 

"  I  will  not  wander  from  the  market-square,  and 
when  I  have  sold  my  flowers,  I  will  sit  down  and 
wait  till  Luigi  comes  to  bring  me  back." 

All  the  while  Luigi  and  his  brothers  kept  up  a 
constant  invitation:  "Come,  come,  piccino,  come, 
there  is  still  room  for  you  and  your  basket.  Hiu  / 
Diavolino !  "  This  last  was  addressed  to  the  don- 
key, who  was  still  pursuing  her  course,  slowly  but 
resolutely. 

"  Hold  your  tongues,  you  shouting  young  ras- 
cals !  "  cried  Luigi,  above  the  rest.  "  Let  the  bimbo 
come  with  us,  Monna  Faustina.  I  '11  take  good 
care  of  him,  and  bring  him  back  safe.  I  '11  look 
after  the  piccino  !  " 

Luigi,  being  the  eldest  of  the  latfs,  made  a  great 
matter  of  his  importance,  and  his  ability  to  take 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  39 

care  of  them  all,  being  the  biggest  and  tallest  of  the 
lot.  He  was  a  good,  hearty,  wholesome  boy  of 
twelve  or  thereabouts,  and  his  brothers  were  very 
much  like  him,  with  just  that  difference  in  their 
height  that  made  them  look  like  a  nicely  graded 
pair  of  stairs  when  they  stood  in  a  row.  They 
always  called  Raffaello  piccino,  "  the  little  one," 
because  he  was  so  small  beside  even  the  youngest  of 
them,  and  his  face  was  so  fine  and  delicate  beside 
their  ruddy  ones. 

Faustina  had  stepped  back  into  the  room,  and 
presently  returned  with  the  basket  of  flowers,  and  a 
paper  bundle  which  she  handed  to  Raffaello. 

"  There  is  the  fowl  and  the  bread  for  your  din- 
ner," she  said ;  "  take  it  along,  you  will  get  no  other. 
And  you,  Luigi,"  and  she  raised  her  voice  for  the 
benefit  of  the  lads  on  the  road,  "  see  that  you  bring 
him  back  whole,  and  that  you  keep  out  of  mischief, 
every  one  of  you,  or  I  '11  —  " 

But  by  this  time,  the  donkey  had  achieved  such  a 
goodly  distance  from  the  hut,  in  spite  of  the  jerking 
at  her  bridle,  that  Luigi  did  not  hear  her  threat. 
Little  Raffaello  was  so  delighted  with  Faustina's 
sudden  decision,  that  he  immediately  hugged  the 
cat,  who  yawned  with  dignified  surprise ;  and  then 
he  took  up  his  basket,  said  good-bye  to  Faus- 


40  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

tina,  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  after  the  little 
cart. 

Faustina  and  Minnetto  stood  watching  him  from 
the  door  of  the  stone  hut:  she  with  the  softer  look 
in  her  large  black  eyes  and  her  bony  fingers  clasped 
tightly  together,  as  she  repeated,  "Holy  Madonna! 
look  to  him.  Perhaps  I  am  a  fool  for  letting  him 
go  out  of  my  sight;  but  something  tells  me  that 
only  good  can  come  of  it  for  him,  and  I  have  kept 
him  to  myself  alone  long  enough,  and  my  conscience 
is  sore  with  pricking." 

As  for  Signor  Minnetto,  he  was  not  following 
quite  the  same  line  of  thought  as  that  of  his  mis- 
tress. His  pride  was  touched  at  having  been  twice 
deserted  by  his  little  friend  that  morning,  —  by 
Raffaello,  who  so  rarely  went  anywhere  without 
him,  —  and  he  presently  turned  away  from  the  scene 
with  a  superior  and  indifferent  air,  as  one  who 
should  say,  "  What  this  stupid  business  is  all  about, 
I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  and  be  it  far  from  me  to 
care!" 


I"  T  was  some  time  before  Raf- 
faello  was  safely  landed  in 
the  cart,  for  Pierrota,  the  donkey, 
though  a  small  creature,  had  a  mighty  will,  and  all 
the  pulling  and  jerking  at  her  iron  jaw  made  no 
more  impression  on  her  than  if  she  had  been  a 
wooden  donkey  going  by  machinery.  The  lads 
managed  to  lift  Raffaello  in,  while  the  cart  was  still 
moving  slowly,  for  Pierrota  had  ideas  of  her  own 
about  speed ;  and  when  the  feat  was  accomplished, 
after  much  screaming  and  laughing,  Luigi  cracked 
his  willow  switch  in  a  business-like  manner,  and 
shouted,  "  Now,  then,  you  little  beast,  get  along !  " 

But  this  was  the  last  of  the  gentle  Pierrota's 
intentions.  As  soon  as  the  occasion  for  stopping 
was  past,  she  immediately  stood  stock-still,  and 
could  no  more  be  persuaded  to  budge  than  if  her 
four  hoofs  had  been  stout  grip-hooks  clinched  in 
the  earth  under  her.  To  "  get  along  "  when  she  was 


42  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

bidden  to  do  so,  was  as  much  against  her  princi- 
ples as  it  was  to  stop  by  request,  and  Pierrota 
was  nothing  if  not  a  donkey  of  principles.  They 
coaxed  and  threatened,  they  prodded  and  switched, 
they  got  out  and  pushed  the  cart  on  to  her,  they 
pulled  at  her  bridle  with  all  their  might;  but  it  was 
of  no  use.  She  only  stiffened  her  long  ears,  and 
allowed  her  body  to  sway  forward  a  trifle ;  but  her 
legs  were  as  firm  as  rocks.  It  was  a  full  quarter  of 
an  hour  after  Luigi  and  his  companions  had  sur- 
rendered to  her  superior  strength,  and  were  waiting, 
panting  and  exhausted  with  their  exertions,  when 
Pierrota  made  up  her  cast-iron  mind  to  pursue  her 
course  down  the  beautiful  road  leading  to  the  Porta 
Romana.1 

It  was  Raffaello's  first  .ride  to  the  city,  and  he  was 
much  interested  in  the  other  country  folk  who  were 
also  going  to  Florence,  some  in  festive  Sunday  attire, 
with  bright  colored  skirts  and  kerchiefs,  and  white 
aprons,  carrying  their  provisions  to  the  market-place, 
and  doubtless  intending  to  remain  after  their  morn- 
ing's trade  for  the  mass  at  the  big  Duomo,2  where 
they  would  hear  the  fine  preaching  and  the  good 
music.  Luigi  and  his  brothers  seemed  to  know 

1  Roman  gate,  one  of  the  many  gates  of  Florence. 

2  The  cathedral. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  43 

everybody  on  the  road,  and  had  a  jovial  good-morn- 
ing for  each  as  they  met;  and  little  Raffaello's 
admiration  for  his  friends  grew  at  every  mile-stone. 

He  would  soon  be  a  tall  stout  lad,  like  Luigi,  he 
thought,  and  then  he  could  drive  a  cart  himself,  and 
take  Faustina  and  Minnetto  with  him,  since  he  had 
no  young  brothers  like  Luigi.  and  they  would  go  to 
the  festas  he  had  heard  so  much  about,  and  there 
would  always  be  quattrini1  enough  to  buy  what 
Faustina  wanted,  and  she  would  never  be  cross  to  him 
and  the  cat.  Oh,  it  was  a  happy,  happy  morning  for 
Raffaellino,  but  he  could  not  talk  of  his  happiness  to 
his  little  comrades ;  he  could  only  sit  and  think 
about  it  quietly,  while  they  laughed  and  joked 
among  themselves,  and  appealed  to  him  every  now 
and  then  with  "  Eh,  piccino  ?  " 

When  they  reached  the  great  city  gate,  and  had 
turned  into  the  Via  Romana,2  towards  the  Ponte 
Vecchio,3  Raffaello  began  to  notice  the  great  change 
between  the  bright,  green,  sunlit  country,  and  the 
gray  stone  city,  with  its  high  buildings  and  narrow 
streets,  and  its  crowds  of  people  hurrying  to  and 
from  the  churches,  whose  near  and  distant  bells 
were  clanging  a  weird  and  tuneless  harmony. 

1  The  smallest  Italian  coin.  *  Roman  Street. 

»  The  Old  Bridge. 


44 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 


"  We  shall  not  go  to  the  mercato"  said  Luigi,  "  it 
is  too  late.  That  stubborn  beast  of  a  Pierrota  has 
made  us  lose  too  much  time  with  her  meditations  on 
the  way ; "  for  they  had  had  one  or  two  more  con- 
tests with  the  donkey  before  reaching  the  city. 


The  Via  Romana. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  Piazza  del  Duomo  with  our 
flowers,  for  the  people  will  soon  be  coming  to  the 
High  Mass." 

No  one  made  any  objections ;  no  one  ever  made 
any  objections  to  Luigi's  views,  except,  perhaps, 
Pierrota  sometimes.  But  even  she  suddenly  put 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  45 

on  her  good  behavior  when  she  entered  the  city, 
and  very  soon  they  were  crossing  the  Ponte  Vec- 
chio,  and  Raffaello  could  see  between  the  low  arches 
of  the  covered  bridge  the  beautiful,  silvery  Arno 
flowing  smoothly  through  the  heart  of  the  old  city, 
and  the  fair  slopes  of  Bello  Sguardo  and  Mount 
Oliveto  rising  on  its  south  bank ;  while  on  the 
north,  the  great  tower  of  the  old  palace,  and 
the  dark  mass  of  Santa  Croce,1  and  the  dome  of  the 
cathedral  towered  above  the  whole  city.  Truly, 
Florence  was  a  very  wonderful  place.  He  had 
never  dreamed  of  anything  like  it,  and  the  little  vil- 
lage of  Galluzzo,  which  was  the  only  place  he  re- 
membered having  ever  visited  with  Faustina,  was 
like  an  ant-hill  beside  this. 

When  they  came  to  the  square  in  front  of  the 
cathedral,  the  place  was  already  filled  with  people, 
and  many  other  young  flower-vendors,  who  had 
made  an  earlier  start,  were  running  after  the  ladies, 
holding  up  their  fresh  nosegays,  singing  lustily : 
"  All  for  two  cents  !  Only  two  cents !  " 

Luigi  lost  no  time  in  tumbling  out  of  the  cart, 
and  assisted  Raffaello  to  do  likewise,  and  then  he 
led  the  donkey  around  into  one  of  the  side  streets, 
and  fastened  a  long  feed-bag  about  Pierrota's  neck, 

1  One  of  the  largest  churches  in  the  city. 


46  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

into  which  her  nose  suddenly  disappeared,  that  she 
might  entertain  herself  with  a  little  refreshment 
until  their  return.  The  other  lads  had  fled  in  vari- 
ous directions  as  soon  as  they  were  on  their  feet,  for 
in  their  eagerness  to  join  in  the  excitement  of  the 
trade,  they  quite  forgot  that  Raffaello  was  a  timid 
little  stranger  in  the  big  city.  When  Luigi  re-ap- 
peared from  around  the  corner,  he  found  the  little 
boy  standing  alone  in  the  shadow  of  the.  tall  bell- 
tower,  his  basket  of  tulips  on  his  arm,  and  looking 
about  him  in  a  helpless  way. 

"  Ha,  those  young  rabbits  !  "  Luigi  cried,  "  they 
have  all  skipped  off  and  left  you,  piccino.  Well, 
come  with  me ;  I  will  find  you  a  good  place  to  sit, 
where  you  can  see  the  people  pass  and  offer  them 
your  flowers,  and  where  I  can  find  you  when  I  come 
back.  For  you  must  not  run  about,  lest  you  should 
get  into  trouble.  Faustina  would  call  down  male- 
dictions on  my  head,  and  never  let  you  come  again." 

Raffaello  promised  not  to  stir  from  the  place 
where  Luigi  led  him,  and  they  crossed  the  square  to 
the  Bigallo,  which  is  a  small  open  porch  in  the  Cathe- 
dral Square,  where,  in  olden  times,  the  poor  children 
of  the  city  were  brought  to  receive  charities.  There 
he  sat  upon  the  steps,  and  was  quite  hidden  by  the 
crowd.  "  Now  stay  right  here  on  the  piazza,  and 


"  There  he  sat,  upon  the  steps." 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  49 

sell  all  your  flowers  by  the  time  I  come  again, 
that's  a  good  bimbo !  And  let's  see  which  one  of 
us  can  show  the  most  soldi  ! "  and  Luigi  sallied  off 
with  his  own  stock-in-trade  to  the  neighboring 
streets  and  haunts  he  knew  so  well. 

But  this  was  hardly  as  encouraging  a  proposal  as 
it  sounded,  for  poor  Raffaello  was  so  very  inex- 
perienced in  the  business,  and  felt  so  timid  when  he 
found  himself  all  alone  in  this  strange  place,  with 
so  many  new  faces  going  by  him  all  the  time,  that 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  call  out,  "  Belle  fiori ! " 
like  the  other  lads ;  and  even  if  he  had,  I  doubt 
whether  his  childish  voice  could  have  been  heard  or 
his  tiny  figure  noticed  by  that  gay  multitude  of 
Sunday  strollers.  The  little  fellow  had  not  the 
least  notion  of  how  he  should  go  about  the  selling 
of  his  flowers.  The  thought  that  he  must  run  after 
people  boldly  and  thrust  a  handful  of  blossoms  in 
their  faces,  and  shout,  "  Two  cents !  "  in  their  ears, 
had  never  entered  his  small  head.  So  he  sat  quietly 
gazing  at  the  lovely  white  church  opposite  and  the 
fair,  slender  bell-tower,  and  at  all  the  people  going 
in  at  the  doors  of  the  Duomo,  till  he  began  to  wish 
that  he,  too,  might  cross  the  piazza  and  look  in  at 
its  portals  to  see  the  glorious  faces  of  the  Holy 
Madonna  and  angels,  which  Luigi  said  he  had  once 


50  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

seen  there.  He  could  hear  the  sound  of  voices 
chanting  every  time  the  doors  opened  to  let  the 
worshippers  pass  in  and  out,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  must  be  very  near  Paradise,  and  that  the 
beautiful  entrance  to  the  cathedral  must  be  the  gate 
that  led  thither.  But  every  one  went  by  without 
looking  at  him,  or  buying  any  of  his  flowers ;  and 
by  and  by  he  began  to  be  a  little  discouraged,  and 
after  a  long  while,  very  lonely. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  two  hours  that  he  sat 
there  as  still  as  a  little  mouse,  wondering  when 
Luigi  and  his  brothers  would  return,  when  he  was 
suddenly  seized  with  a  desire  to  walk  to  the  edge  of 
the  street  and  get  a  glimpse  of  Pierrota,  who  was 
placidly  and  contentedly  munching  the  contents  of 
her  bag  in  the  narrow  street  around  the  corner. 
Pierrota  was  only  a  donkey,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  would 
be  comforting  to  see  some  familiar  creature  just  now, 
and  her  loud  and  frequent  braying  had  served  to 
remind  Raffaello,  from  time  to  time,  that  he  had  a 
friend  near  at  hand.  He  stepped  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  walk,  and  was  leaning  as  far  as  he  could  to 
look  down  into  the  street  at  Pierrota,  when  a  car- 
riage dashed  by  so  near,  and  with  such  speed,  that 
the  little  boy  was  startled,  and  dropped  his  basket 
in  the  road,  and  all  his  pretty  flowers  were  scattered 
and  crushed  by  the  big  dusty  wheels. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  51 

"  Capperi  /"  exclaimed  a  tremendously  deep  voice 
from  the  box.  "  Will  the  plagued  youngsters  never 
learn  to  get  out  of  the  way !  Perdition  take  you 
for  stopping  my  horse  when  I  'm  in  such  a  hurry  ! 
Ecco!  a  little  more,  and  you  would  have  gone  under 
with  your  flowers  —  a  pestilence  on  them !  and  I 
should  have  had  to  pay  the  magistrate  for  your 
broken  neck ! " 

Raffaello  was  so  frightened  that  he  began  to  cry, 
not  so  much  at  what  the  big,  burly,  red-faced  man 
said,  for  he  really  seemed  to  be  smiling  even  while 
he  scolded  lustily,  as  at  the  sudden  turn  he  had 
received,  and  at  the  sight  of  all  his  pretty  flowers 
lying  dead  in  the  road. 

"  Look  at  him  !  the  bambino  is  crying,  now,"  said 
the  burly  man,  reining  in  his  horse  and  jumping 
from  his  coach.  "  There,  there,  don't  fret  yourself 
any  more.  I  '11  forgive  you  for  coming  in  my  way, 
and  will  not  give  you  any  penance  this  time ;  -but 
mind  you  don't  do  it  again,  else  I  will  call  on  all 
the  little  imps  to  roast  your  ears,"  and  he  patted 
Raffaello  kindly  on  the  shoulder,  in  spite  of  his  ter- 
rible threat. 

Raffaello  had  not  thought  of  the  coachman's  for- 
giveness as  a  means  of  consolation  for  the  loss  of 
his  posies.  He  stooped  to  pick  up  the  injured 
blossoms,  drawing  his  little  sleeve  across  his  eyes 


52  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  What,  blubbering  still !  What  more  do  you 
want,  you  silly  young  rabbit  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  flowers,  my  flowers  !  "  sobbed  Raffaello. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Ho,  ho,  ho !  "  roared  the  big  coc- 
chiere?  "  Why,  the  fields  are  full  of  them,  and  there 
are  plenty  more  where  those  came  from.  Besides, 
of  what  good  are  your  silly  flowers  ?  — you  can't  make 
salad  of  them,  or  boil  them  down  for  spinach." 

"  I  was  going  to  sell  them,  and  take  the  money 
to  Faustina,"  explained  Raffaello,  as  he  placed  each 
one  back  in  the  basket. 

"  And  will  Monna  Faustina  beat  you,  if  you  don't 
bring  home  the  quattrini?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  signor !  Faustina  does  not  beat  me, 
nor  even  Minnetto." 

"  And  who  is  Minnetto?  "  inquired  the  man. 

"  Minnetto  is  our  cat." 

"  Then,  Faustina  is  a  good  woman,  and  does  not 
ill-use  you  ?  "  demanded  the  red-faced  cocchiere,  quite 
overlooking  the  fact  that  he  was  in  such  a  hurry, 
in  his  interest  to  learn  more  about  the  little  fellow. 

"  Faustina  is  very  good  to  me,"  said  Raffaello ;  and 
he  likewise  lost  sight  of  his  trouble  for  a  moment, 
as  he  glanced  up  with  wonder,  ever  so  high,  into  the 
face  of  the  old  cabman  who  was  so  big  and  good- 

1  Cabman. 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  53 

natured,  and  had  such  a  purplish  hue  to  his  com- 
plexion, and  such  a  wonderful  nose,  and  who  had  so 
many  brass  buttons  to  his  coat,  and  wore  such  an 
enormous  glazed  hat  over  one  ear,  that  Raffaello 
believed  he  must  be  some  grand  personage,  and 
insisted  on  calling  him  signer.  The  little  boy  had 
never  seen  any  one  so  remarkable  before,  and  he 
fancied  he  must  be  very  rich  to  sit  a-top  such  a 
splendid  coach  and  drive  a  horse,  not  a  simple  coun- 
try-donkey, like  Pierrota. 

"  Altro  !  Then  you  ought  not  to  care  a  fig  about 
the  flowers,  since  Faustina  will  not  beat  you!  "  and 
he  snapped  his  fat  fingers  in  the  air,  with  a  conclu- 
sive nod. 

"  But  I  wanted  very  much  to  sell  them,  so  as  to 
give  Faustina  the  money.  We  are  poor,  and  she 
has  to  work  hard.  Now,  no  one  will  buy  them," 
said  Raffaello,  his  face  falling  again  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  misfortune. 

"  Che,  che!  then  you  are  a  good  bimbo!"  said 
the  coachman,  as  if  the  discovery  of  a  good  boy 
were  quite  a  new  thing  to  him.  Then,  plunging 
violently  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  he  added,  "  By 
San  Giovanni !  since  you  are  a  good  bimbo,  and  a 
pretty  limbo  into  the  bargain,"  and  he  tilted  Raf- 
faello's  face  far  back,  the  better  to  look  in  it,  —  "  yes 


54  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

a  pretty  bimbo  !  I  '11  give  you  a  few  cents  for  your 
flowers,  such  as  they  are.  I  will  take  them  to  the 
madre.1  She  is  very  old,  is  the  madre,  and  she  can 
neither  see  nor  hear  nor  smell.  She  '11  never  mind 
the  dust  and  the  broken  stems.  She  :ll  feel  them 
with  her  hands,  and  think  herself  back  in  the  country 
instead  of  an  old  garret.  But  you  must  not  charge 
me  for  the  dust.  What  will  you  take  for  them,  dust 
and  all?" 

"  Oil,  I  don't  know,  signer,  whatever  you  like  !  " 

"  That 's  a  fine  way  of  trading,  San  Pietro!  What- 
ever I  like!  It  might  be  one  quattrino,  if  I  were  a 
poor  beggar  of  a  coachman,  or  a  hundred  francs,  if  I 
were  the  Duke  of  Vallambrosa!  " 

Raffaello  did  not  understand  this  bit  of  ratio  and 
proportion.  He  looked  at  the  big  cabman  with 
astonishment  in  his  eyes,  and  a  flush  of  expectation 
on  his  round  baby  face. 

"  Now  what  do  you  say  to  two  cents,  ten 
bright  centissimi?"  he  said,  bargaining  wholly 
with  himself,  not  with  Raffaello.  "No?  not  two? 
Three,  then,  three  cents !  " 

"  Get  along  with  you !  three  cents  indeed !  that 
would  not  pay  for  the  nails  in  the  shoes  a  bimbo 
wears  to  walk  in  from  the  country.  .A  lira  !  "2 

1  Mother. 

2  The  standard  of  Italian  money,  —  worth  twenty  cents. 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  55 

"  A  lira !  forty  apoplexies  on  you !  What  do 
you  think  I  am  made  of  ?  Do  you  think  I  get  the 
rentals  of  the  Villa  Barborello!" 

"  Eighty  centissimi,  then." 

"  No  more  eighty  :  you  may  keep  your  tulips,  and 
put  them  in  your  soup-pot  to  flavor  your  Sunday 
dinner.  I  '11  give  you  fifty  for  them,  not  a  quattrino 
more.  Fifty,  is  it  ?  " 

"That's  too  little;  but  let  it  be  fifty,  though 
that 's  a  bad  bargain  for  me,  a  very  bad  bargain." 

After  concluding  this  little  dialogue  with  himself, 
—  it  was  only  a  habit  he  had  of  bargaining  when- 
ever he  made  any  sort  of  purchase,  —  he  drew  a 
battered  leathern  purse  from  his  pocket,  took  out 
a  new  silver  piece,  fifty  centissmi,  worth  just  ten 
cents,  and  handed  it  to  Raffaello  with  a  smile  of 
immense  satisfaction. 

"  There  's  a  fortune  for  you,  my  little  man !  May 
you  never  meet  with  worse  luck !  " 

"Oh,  thank  you!  thank  you  so  much,  signor!" 
cried  Raffaello,  joyfully,  eying  the  bright  coin. 
"  Faustina  will  be  so  glad  !  " 

"  There,  there,"  returned  the  coachman,  waving 
him  off,  "  no  thanks  are  needed  for  a  good  bargain, 
on  either  side.  I  must  be  off;  I'm  in  a  tremen- 
dous hurry,  I  tell  you!" 


56  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

He  opened  the  door  of  his  cab,  and  flung  Raf- 
faello's  flowers  on  the  seat.  "  Now,  see  that  you 
don't  get  in  the  way  of  my  wheels  again,"  he  added, 
slamming  the  coach-door;  "  but  if  you  do,  remember 
that  my  name  is  Camillo,  and  my  number  is  twenty- 
one,  and  that  I  live  behind  the  Badia.1  What 's 
your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Raffaello." 

Camillo  nodded  as  if  the  name  were  satisfactory. 

"  Well !  Raffaello  is  a  good  name  for  a  bimbo 
with  a  pretty  face."  With  which  he  mounted  his 
coach  once  more,  flourished  his  whip  several  times 
over  his  head,  and,  with  a  broad  smile  for  Raffaello, 
drove  away. 

By  this  time  the  crowd  was  beginning  again,  for 
the  people  were  coming  out  of  the  cathedral,  and 
the  mass  was  over;  so  Raffaello  slipped  back  to  his 
little  corner  on  the  steps  of  the  Bigallo,  holding 
his  empty  basket  in  one  hand,  and  clutching  his 
precious  silver  piece  in  the  other.  It  was  not  long 
before  Luigi  and  his  brothers  returned  and  found 
the  little  boy  just  where  they  had  left  him. 

"  San  Pietro !  "  exclaimed  Luigi, "  the  piccinos  bas- 
ket is  empty!  Did  you  sell  them  all,  Raffaellino?" 

"  Yes,  a  grand  signor  in  a  carriage  took  them  all ; 

1  The  Badia  is  one  of  the  oldest  churches  in  Florence. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  57 

he  bought  them  for  his  old  mother."  And  he  re- 
lated as  correctly  as  his  distorted  imagination  would 
allow,  all  that  had  taken  place  between  him  and 
Camillo. 

"  And  how  much  did  he  give  you  ?  "  was  the  eager 
question. 

Raffaello  spread  out  his  palm  and  showed  the 
silver  piece  with  great  pride. 

"Santa  Maria,  what  good  fortune!  You're  a 
lucky  one, piccino"  the  lads  all  shouted  in  a  chorus; 
and  indeed,  he  had  been  much  luckier  than  they. 
For  although  each  one  had  sold  his  little  stock,  and 
was  jingling  his  fifteen,  twenty,  or  thirty  centissimi 
in  his  pocket  as  he  danced  his  pleasure,  not  one 
of  them  had  earned  as  much  as  fifty,  not  even 
Luigi. 

They  all  tumbled  into,  the  cart  once  more ;  and  as 
Pierrota  was  always  pleased  with  the  prospect  of 
turning  her  nose  homeward,  everything  went  as 
merry  as  a  marriage-bell,  and  they  were  very  soon 
out  of  the  city,  and  again  upon  the  open  country 
road,  eating  their  dinners  as  they  went,  and  feeling 
as  happy  as  country  lads  always  do  the  world 
over. 

But  the  happiest  of  them  all,  I  think,  was  little 
Raffaello ;  for  the  morning  had,  in  truth,  brought 


58  A  CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

him  much  good-fortune,  —  more  than  he  really  knew 
of  at  the  time,  for  he  had  made  his  first  acquaintance 
with  the  beautiful  city  of  Florence,  and  earned  a 
shining  piece  of  silver  for  Faustina,  and  gained,  what 
is  still  more  precious,  a  good  friend. 


OU  may  imagine  with  what  a  glad 
heart  Faustina  saw  the  little 
cart  coming  up  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  as  she  stood  at  the  door 
of  her  stone  hut,  late  that  after- 
noon. She  had  not  done  much 
else  than  come  to  the  door  and 
watch,  though  she  knew  they  could  scarcely  get 
back  till  long  after  the  church  hour;  for  poor 
Pierrota  found  it  a  slow  and  difficult  task  to  draw 
a  cartful  of  stout  lads  up  the  steep  road.  What- 
ever indiscretion  or  frivolity  she  might  have  in- 
dulged in  on  her  way  down,  she  never  showed 
any  but  a  meek  and  docile  spirit  on  her  way  up  the 
hill,  as  if  from  each  trip  she  returned  a  sadder  but 
a  wiser  donkey. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Pierrota  stopped  in  front 
of  Faustina's  dwelling.     Raffaello,  after  saying  good- 


60  A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

bye  to  Luigi  and  his  brothers,  ran  to  Faustina,  eager 
to  relate  all  that  had  happened,  and  to  show  her  the 
fruit  of  his  success.  She  was  more  eager,  if  pos- 
sible, to  hear  it  all,  than  he  was  to  tell  it ;  and  she 
sat  and  looked  intently  at  his  animated  little  face, 
his  large  liquid  eyes,  and  the  bright  color  that  rose 
to  his  cheeks  as  he  spoke.  She  had  never  seen  him 
so  excited,  and  he  seemed  to  have  grown  and 
changed  in  that  one  day  of  absence,  the  first  he 
had  ever  spent  away  from  her  since  he  had  been  in 
her  keeping.  When  he  had  finished  his  adventures, 
Faustina  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  and  Raffaello 
was  happy,  for  she  rarely  did  this  unless  she  had 
some  great  reason  for  being  pleased  with  him. 

"  And  you  are  glad  that  I  went,  now,  Faustina, 
are  you  not  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Glad  that  you  got  into  no  worse  mischief? 
yes,  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  in  her  same  old  tones. 

"  And  you  will  let  me  go  again  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  but  not  too  often;  it  is  not  well  for 
country  lads  to  see  too  much  of  the  city." 

After  that,  Faustina  was  silent,  and  remained  so 
all  the  rest  of  that  day.  She  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing, thinking  very  gloomily  about  something,  and 
she  went  about  the  house  in  an  absent-minded  sort 
of  way,  sweeping  up  the  cat  with  the  crumbs  with- 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  6 1 

out  knowing  it,  and  watering  the  canary  instead 
of  the  artichokes.  Their  hut,  of  only  two  rooms,  — 
the  one  where  Faustina  slept  and  said  her  prayers, 
the  other  where  they  cooked  and  ate  and  worked  by 
the  fire  on  long  winter  evenings,  together  with  the 
little  closet  which  was  Raffaello's,  —  had  always 
seemed  like  a  very  large  and  roomy  house ;  and  so  it 
was,  in  comparison  with  the  way  in  which  most  poor 
families  lived  yonder  at  Galluzzo,  where  every  one 
found  fault  with  her  for  living  in  such  luxury! 
While  in  truth,  she  had  just  enough  to  live  misera- 
bly, which  to  those  who  have  nothing,  seems  a  great 
deal.  But  to-night  the  little  house  seemed  terribly 
poor  and  bare  to  Faustina,  in  spite  of  the  small  for- 
tune Raffaello  had  brought  her.  The  air  of  the 
room  seemed  to  choke  her,  the  ceiling  seemed  to  be 
pressing  down  upon  her,  and  s,he  could  not  sit 
quietly  beside  the  window  and  tell  her  beads,  as  was 
her  custom  on  Sunday  evenings.  She  walked 
about  the  place  restlessly,  and  at  length  went  out 
into  the  small  garden  that  she  might  breathe  more 
freely  and  give  more  room  to  her  thoughts. 

What  is  she  thinking  of  as  she  sits  on  the  little 
stone  bench  underneath  the  tall  cypress,  and  the 
darkening  twilight  is  falling  about  her?  Her  lips 
are  set  very  tight,  and  her  black  eyes  are  looking 


62  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

far,  far  away,  farther  than  where  the  brooklet  Ema 
turns  its  course,  farther  than  where  the  old  certosa 
crowns  the  hill  of  Montaguto.  She  is  looking  into 
the  twenty  years  that  have  passed  since  she  was  a 
li^ht-hearted  village  maid,  with  no  more  care  or 

o  o 

thought  of  sorrow  than  the  joyous  nightingale  that 
wakened  her  in  the  morning.  She  recalls  the  time 
when  a  good  man  had  come  and  made  her  his  wife, 
and  taken  her  with  him  to  live  in  beautiful  Florence. 
It  was  just  at  this  time,  in  the  spring,  twenty  years 
ago,  after  the  glorious  Easter,  that  he  had  taught  her 
to  be  happy,  as  people  are  but  once  in  their  lives,  be 
they  lofty  or  lowly,  be  they  rich  or  poor,  famous  or 
obscure.  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  happiness 
is  happiness,  no  matter  where  it  falls.  But  above 
all  she  remembers  the  little  stranger,  the  sweet 
bambino  that  came  to  make  the  new  year  glad  for 
them.  She  smiles  as  she  thinks  of  that  time,  for 
the  memory  of  it  cannot  be  taken  from  her,  although 
sorrow  came  soon  after.  Before  the  return  of 
another  spring,  she  had  lost  them  both,  the  good 
husband  and  the  sweet  babe,  and  she  was  mad  with 
grief.  Ah,  that  was  when  the  trouble  all  began,  and 
the  wicked,  bitter  feeling  took  root  in  her  heart ! 

They  were  repairing  one  of  the  bridges  across  the 
Arno,  the  Ponte  Rubaconte,  the  one  leading  to  the 


"  What  is  she  thinking  of  ?  " 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  65 

Piazza  Santa  Croce ;  she  had  good  cause  to  remem- 
ber it,  and  never  to  tread  upon  its  accursed  stones. 
Her  husband  was  at  work  there,  and  a  huge  slab 
slipped  and  fell  while  they  were  raising  it,  and 
crushed  his  life  out  of  him.  Then,  the  bambino 
took  a  fever,  from  her  taking  him  so  much  to  the 
cold,  damp  churches,  where  she  went  to  say  masses 
for  the  soul  of  her  poor  husband,  and  the  little 
thing  died  too  ;  and  she  was  left  alone  and  wretched, 
worse  off  than  if  she  had  never  known  any  joy, 
and  she  could  not  make  her  peace  with  God,  who 
had  brought  her  to  such  misery. 

It  is  a  pitiful  thing  to  see  people  grow  hard  and 
rebellious  under  the  misfortunes  which  Providence 
sees  fit  to  send  them,  forgetting  that  these  come 
upon  us  only  for  a  good  purpose,  —  to  chasten  and 
strengthen  us,  to  test  our  faith  perhaps,  and  teach 
us  to  look  to  the  world  above  if  we  would  have  the 
knowledge  of  true  joy. 

Faustina  lived  in  a  fearful  state  of  mind  for  twelve 
years  after  the  loss  of  her  dear  ones.  She  saw  no 
one;  she  would  listen  to  no  comfort  or  reason;  she 
did  not  even  pray ;  she  bound  her  heart  with  steel 
that  she  might  never  learn  to  care  for  any  thing  or 
creature  again. 

One  day  at  dusk,  —  it  was  on  a  Thursday,  when 

5 


66  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

the  beautiful  Gardens  of  Boboli  are  open  to  the 
people  until  sun-down,  and  thousands  flock  thither 
from  their  great  stone  prisons,  to  enjoy  the  new 
spring  air  and  verdure,  —  Faustina  was  walking 
down  the  green  maze  of  trees  that  leads  to  the 
outer  wall  of  the  Porta  Romana.  It  was  her  last 
day  in  Florence,  and  she  was  going  to  the  country 
to  live.  She  had  secured  the  little  hut  for  a  small 
rent,  and  it  was  just  far  enough  from  the  village  of 
Galluzzo  to  enable  her  to  lead  the  secluded  and 
lonely  life  she  had  chosen,  and  to  keep  away  from 
the  too  frequent  sight  of  others'  happiness.  She 
had  worked  hard,  those  twelve  years,  to  save  a  little 
money,  and  she  could  still  braid  straw  for  the 
factories,  and  do  her  own  gardening,  and  thus  live 
without  mingling  much  with  a  world  she  hated. 
Florence  was  sickening  to  her;  there  was  no  longer 
any  beauty  or  good  in  it ;  she  had  been  so  wretched 
there  that  she  longed  to  turn  her  back  upon  it. 
To  do  this  the  sooner,  she  had  passed  through  the 
great  gate  of  the  Pitti  Palace,  and  turned  into  one 
of  those  long  shady  avenues  of  the  Gardens  which 
stretch  southward  for  nearly  a  mile,  and  finally  open 
upon  the  country  road  which  she  should  take  to 
reach  her  new  home.  She  had  avoided  the  places 
in  the  Gardens  where  the  fountains  play,  and  where 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  67 

the  crowds  gather,  —  the  crowds  of  gay  young 
women  with  their  lovers  and  husbands,  of  mothers 
with  their  children  and  grandchildren,  and  such  a 
multitude  of  nurse-maids  in  their  bright  dresses  and 
long-ribboned  caps,  carrying  little  ones  in  their  arms, 
that  one  would  think  a  poor  little  bimbo  like  the 
one  Faustina  had  lost,  would  scarcely  have  been 
missed.  Oh,  but  that  one  little  child  left  a  greater 
void  in  Faustina's  heart  than  if  all  the  other  chil- 
dren of  Florence  had  been  taken  away. 

She  stopped  once  to  rest,  just  a  few  paces  before 
she  reached  the  south  gate.  The  sun  was  very  low, 
and  the  darkness  had  already  entered  the  shady 
walk  from  which  she  was  emerging.  It  was  very 
quiet  and  solemn.  She  could  no  longer  hear  the 
murmur  of  distant  voices,  as  the  crowd  was  moving 
towards  the  principal  entrance.  She  only  heard  the 
faint  tolling  of  the  guard's  bell,  a  warning  that  the 
gates  were  about  to  close. 

As  she  rose  to  go,  a  sound  fell  upon  her  ear.  It 
was  a  strange  crackling  sound,  like  the  unsteady 
pattering  of  small  feet  upon  the  gravel  walk.  As 
it  came  nearer  she  heard  a  little  cooing  and  gurgling 
as  of  a  contented  young  pigeon,  and  soon  from  a 
narrow  path  intersecting  the  long  avenue,  there 
appeared  a  wee,  tottering  figure  looking  about  in 


68  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

fearless  surprise,  evidently  much  delighted  with  each 
new  discovery  he  had  made  in  his  lonely  ramblings 
through  that  deserted  part  of  the  garden.  The 
child  uttered  a  little  cry  when  he  saw  Faustina's 
tall  dark  figure,  and  ran  towards  her. 

"  Ma  —  ma ! "  cried  the  little  thing,  clutching  her 
dress,  and  making  inarticulate  sounds  to  show  that 
he  was  tired  of  his  freedom,  and  wished  to  be  taken 
care  of. 

With  a  sudden  impulse,  Faustina  caught  the  child 
in  her  arms,  and  held  it  close.  There  was  not 
another  creature  near.  The  little  one  had  doubtless 
strayed  from  its  nurse,  and  lost  itself  in  the  laby- 
rinth of  narrow  paths.  Faustina  listened ;  but  all 
was  still  as  night,  save  for  the  baby's  sleepy  wail  of 
"  Ma  —  ma ! "  as  its  little  head  fell  exhausted  on  her 
shoulder. 

She  stood  only  a  moment  irresolute.  Then  she 
hastily  took  from  the  bundle  which  she  carried,  con- 
taining her  few  possessions,  an  old  shawl,  which  she 
wrapped  about  the  child,  and  passed  out  of  the  gate 
upon  the  road  without  being  seen  of  any  one.  She 
walked  very  fast,  and  her  heart  beat  loud,  and  her 
cheeks  grew  hot,  as  she  felt  the  little  creature  nest- 
ling to  her  bosom.  She  could  not  think  of  anything 
clearly,  or  realize  what  had  happened  until  she  had 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 


69 


gone  nearly  half  the  way ;  but  she  kept  repeating  to 
herself,  in  a  low'husky  voice:  "  I  have  not  stolen  it! 
I  have  not  stolen  it !  It  came  to 
me.  I  will  not  give  it  up.  Shall 
not  others  suffer  as  I  have  been 
made  to  suffer!  Let  them 
look,  and  search,  and  despair 
as  I  have  done, 
they  w?ill  never  find 

;-.;     .  • 


it;  I  shall  hide  it  from     fe! 
all  eyes,  and  it  shall  be 
my  comfort  and  my  re- 
venge ! " 

With     these     bitter 
thoughts   within    her, 
Faustina  journeyed    on 
and  on  up  the  steep  hill-road,  never  minding  the 
descending   night   and   the   loneliness  of  the  way, 


70  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

only  clinging  to  the  sleeping  child  more  fiercely 
whenever  she  heard  a  sound, —  a  voice  in  the 
distance,  or  the  far-off  tinkle  of  a  belated  bullock 
returning  homeward,  or  the  rumbling  of  wheels  over 
a  bridge,  or  even  the  murmur  of  a  vagrant  streamlet 
scurrying  over  rocks.  She  feared  lest  any  of  them 
should  be  a  pursuer  who  might  overtake  her  before 
she  had  safely  hidden  her  treasure,  and  she  quick- 
ened her  step,  never  stopping  to  listen  until  she  had 
reached  her  journey's  end. 

The  little  hut  was  dark,  and  chill,  and  bare  when 
she  entered  it ;  but  she  minded  not.  It  was  a  goodly 
distance  from  the  village,  and  Galluzzo  itself  was 
such  an  out-of-the-way,  forlorn,  ignorant  hamlet  that 
it  was  the  last  place  in  the  world  where  one  would 
ever  think  of  going  to  find  anything  or  anybody. 
The  village  folk  knew  nothing  of  what  took  place 
at  Florence.  The  tall  figures  on  the  Ponte  San 
.Trinita  might  have  tumbled  over  into  the  Arno,  and 
the  people  of  Galluzzo  would  have  been  none  the 
wiser ;  for  they  took  little  interest  in  the  things 
that  did  not  concern  them,  and  they  were  too  simple 
and  honest  to  be,  themselves,  suspicious  of  any  mis- 
chief. So  Faustina  felt  herself  safe  here,  safer  than 
she  would  have  been  anywhere  else.  She  would 
shut  herself  away  from  everybody,  that  she  might 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  71 

never  hear  of  the  search  for  the  child ;  for  a  des- 
perate search  there  would  be,  as  indeed  there  was 
for  days  and  nights,  and  weeks  and  months,  in  all 
the  cities  of  Tuscany  and  Italy,  everywhere  but  in 
the  miserable  village  of  Galluzzo. 

She  lighted  the  candle,  and  made  a  bit  of  fire  with 
some  small  sticks  which  she  had  gathered  before 
entering,  and  sat  down  in  front  of  it  to  look  at  the 
small  figure  in  her  arms.  It  was  a  lovely  babe,  with 
rich  dark  curls,  and  large  eyes  whose  closed  lids  were 
fringed  with  long  beautiful  lashes  that  swept  his  milk- 
white  cheek.  His  little  features  were  fine  and  deli- 
cate; and  the  smile  that  played  upon  the  sleeping  face 
made  him  look  so  like  an  angel,  that  she  called  him 
Raffaello.  His  clothes  were  made  of  rich,  pure  linen, 
beautifully  hand-worked ;  and  around  his  neck  there 
hung,  from  a  fine  gold  chain,  a  golden  medal  with 
the  face  of  the  Virgin  upon  it.  Faustina  quickly 
took  off  these  things,  and  substituted  for  them  some 
plainer  and  more  humble  garments  that  had  be- 
longed to  her  own  babe.  Then  she  took  the 
pretty  clothes,  the  fine  silk  hood,  lace  and  all,  and 
flung  them  into  the  fire,  and  watched  the  flames 
they  made,  till  there  was  nothing  left  of  them  but  a 
black  fluttering  heap.  The  medal  she  would  not 
burn,  for  it  was  a  sacred  thing,  and  had  been  blessed 


72  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

by  the  priest ;  but  she  locked  it  safely  away,  in  her 
little  treasure-box,  and  sat  the  remainder  of  the  night 
with  the  little  one  in  her  lap. 

This  was  how  it  happened  that  Raffaello  came  to 
be  a  member  of  this  strange  little  family.  Every- 
thing had  turned  out  as  Faustina  had  hoped :  no  one 
came  near  for  months ;  no  one  knew  about  the 
little  boy  she  had  with  her,  until  several  years 
after  all  this  had  taken  place,  and  her  fears  and 
anxieties  had  worn  away,  little  by  little.  She  had 
only  recently  taken  to  going  into  the  city ;  and  now, 
once  in  a  great  while,  she  went  with  Raffaello  to 
the  village.  But  she  made  no  explanations  con- 
cerning him  ;  and  the  people  there  had  made  their 
own  conjectures.  She  had  grown  to  care  very 
much  for  the  little  boy,  and  could  not  have  borne 
to  part  with  him  ;  though  she  never  showed  this 
by  her  manner,  which  was  hard  and  sullen,  lest  he 
should  grow  to  love  her  too  well.  But  she  was 
beginning  to  feel  a  little  conscience-stricken  for 
the  great  change  she  had  been  the  means  of  bring- 
ing into  his  fortunes.  As  she  often  said,  he  was 
not  of  the  common  people,  and  she  had  tried  to 
shield  him,  as  much  as  she  could,  from  terrible 
want  and  suffering ;  and  now  she  had  used  up  all 
her  little  store  of  money,  and  something  must  be 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  73 

done  to  pay  the  padrone,  or  else  they  would  be 
turned  out  of  the  hut.  That  was  why  she  had, 
after  much  fearful  thought,  consented  to  let  him 
go  to  Florence  that  morning;  and  the  event  had 
brought  back  to  her  all  these  painful  remembrances, 
and  re-awakened  all  her  fears,  that  for  a  time,  at 
least,  seemed  to  have  been  sleeping. 

This  is  what  Faustina  was  thinking  of  as  she 
sat  on  the  little  stone  bench  underneath  the  tall 
cypress,  and  the  darkening  night  fell  about  her! 


'"pHERE  is  no  lovelier 
-*-  country  in  all  of  lovely 
Italy  than  the  fair  plains  of 
Tuscany.  Tuscany,  with  its  wealth 
of  spring  and  summer  flowers,  and 
radiant  verdure,  its  ancient  trees,  its  grassy  hill- 
slopes  mantled  with  the  tender  green  of  the  olive 
and  the  rosy  flush  of  the  blossoming  almond,  its 
rich  vineyards  and  luxuriant  fields  where  the  red 
poppies  and  the  yellow  daffodils  nod  to  one  another 
from  between  the  furrows,  its  shy  wood-violets,  and 
pure  white  stars-of-Bethlehem  and  sweet-scented 
gilliflowers  lifting  their  bright  faces  to  you  wher- 
ever you  tread ;  and  the  glorious  warmth  of  its 
sunbeams,  and  the  delicious  coolness  of  its  breezes, 
and  the  depth  of  blue  in  its  skies,  —  surely  it  is  no 
wonder  that  its  people  are  the  gay,  light-hearted, 
smiling,  songful  nation  that  they  are !  And  I 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  75 

think  there  are  no  happier  children  in  the  world 
than  the  Tuscan  boys  and  girls,  who  live  simple 
lives,  and  enjoy  simple  pleasures,  and  who  grow  up 
to  manhood  and  womanhood  surrounded  by  the 
sweetest  and  purest  joys  that  Nature  can  afford. 

Raffaello,  being  a  child  of  Tuscany,  and  there- 
fore heir  to  all  the  gifts  and  blessings  of  that 
smiling  country,  should  have  been  happy  indeed, 
as  happy  as  any  of  his  little  comrades  yonder  at 
Galluzzo,  especially  now  that  a  way  was  open  to  him 
which  promised  to  make  him  useful  to  Faustina. 
He  should  have  been  happy,  I  say,  save  for  the 
vague  consciousness  he  had  that  a  mystery  hung 
over  his  lonely  childhood.  There  was  something 
about  the  hut,  about  Faustina,  even  about  the  cat, 
sometimes,  that  made  him  feel  he  did  not  hold  the 
same  place  there  that  other  children  held  in  their 
homes.  No  one  ever  laughed  in  the  little  gray 
hut ;  he  never  laughed  himself  as  he  did  when  he 
was  with  Luigi  and  his  brothers.  Everything  was 
so  solemn  and  quiet  wherever  Faustina  was,  that  no 
one  would  have  dared  to  laugh,  except,  perhaps, 
the  little  brooklet  Ema,  a  saucy  little  stream  that 
cares  for  nothing  as  it  ripples  by  to  throw  itself 
into  the  arms  of  the  Greve.1 

1  A  small  river. 


76  A   CHILD   OF  -TUSCANY. 

Often  and  often,  after  a  happy  day  in  the  city  with 
Luigi,  Raffaello  would  come  back  and  feel  even 
more  conscious  of  the  dreariness  of  his  home,  and 
he  would  resolve  to  ask  Faustina  about  it,  and  beg 
her  to  tell  him  what  was  the  cause  of  it,  and  whether 
there  was  anything  he  could  do  to  help  it.  But  he 
never  had  the  courage  to  follow  out  this  resolution ; 
for  it  seemed  that  at  those  very  times  Faustina  was 
more  silent  and  gloomy  and  forbidding  than  ever. 

Many  days  went  by,  and  he  kept  his  little  troubles 
to  himself,  having  been  admonished  by  Faustina 
that  he  must  hold  his  tongue,  and  not  talk  of  him- 
self or  of  her  to  those  young  parrots,  Luigi  and  his 
brothers,  who  had  no  more  sense  in  their  noddles 
than  yellow  pumpkins.  He  went  to  the  city  with 
them  very  often,  nevertheless,  and  found  them  agree- 
able and  kind  companions  in  spite  of  what  Faustina 
said;  and  those  days  were  always  festa  days  for  him. 
He  grew  better  acquainted  with  the  big  gray  city, 
its  little  crooked  streets,  and  its  broad  piazzas;  and 
after  that  first  day  of  his  good-fortune,  he  was  no 
longer  afraid  of  holding  up  his  flowers  to  the  pass- 
ers-by. He  was  so  like  a  little  flower  himself  that 
many  stopped  to  look  at  the  baby  face,  and  bought 
of  him,  when  they  had  driven  away  a  dozen  bolder 
vendors,  and  gave  him  twice  what  he  ^sked  for  his 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  77 

posies.  And  so  he  grew  to  be  a  power  in  the  house 
with  his  little  income  of  centimes,  and  soon  was  pay- 
ing half  the  rent,  though  he  was  hardly  seven  years  old. 

One  day  when  Faustina  had  told  him  to  buy  him- 
self a  bun  out  of  his  money  for  his  mid-day  meal,  as 
she  was  going  out  and  there  would  be  no  dinner 
when  he  got  back,  the  happy  thought  came  to  him 
that  he  would  buy  something  for  her  instead,  and 
take  it  home  that  night.  There  happened  to  be 
passing  a  noisy  peddler  with  a  most  enticing  tray 
of  trinkets  suspended  from  his  neck, — gilded  rings 
and  brooches,  and  bits  of  red  coral  and  blue  tur- 
quoise. Raffaello  eyed  them  wistfully,  with  a  child's 
love  for  bright  things,  and  followed  the  man  a  little 
way,  feeling  for  his  pennies  in  his  little  scarsella* 
when  the  peddler  caught  sight  of  him. 

"  Oh,  you  pretty  pigeon,  what  bright  eyes  you  Ve 
got,  and  what  pretty  curls  !  Don't  you  want  to  give 
me  one  of  those  lovely  ringlets  of  yours  in  exchange 
for  some  of  my  wares  ?  See  these  fine  coral  beads  ! 
The  blessed  Mother  would  be  mightily  pleased  if 
you  said  your  prayers  to  her  on  such  a  splendid 
rosary  as  this.  It 's  a  beauty !  "  and  he  dangled  the 
beauty  in  question  with  a  most  persuasive  wink. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  part  with   my  curls,"  said 

1  A  sort  of  money-bag  worn  by  the  country-folk. 


78  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

Raffaello,  "  but  I  would  give  you  some  quattrini  for 
the  beads.  I  would  like  to  buy  them  for  Faustina." 

"Santa  Lucia!  do  you  think  you  have  got  quat- 
trini enough  to  buy  these  ? "  laughed  the  amused 
peddler.  "  Why,  they  are  fine  enough  to  give  to 
the  Pope  himself!  They  are  worth  a  fortune  ;  you 
will  never  see  as  much  money  as  it  would  take  to 
buy  them.  Yet,  I  will  let  you  have  the  beads  for 
your  curls." 

He  laid  his  hand  caressingly  on  Raffaello's  dark 
hair,  thinking  what  a  good  bargain  he  could  make 
of  the  soft  silken  ringlets  with  the  wig-maker  in 
his  neighborhood ;  for  this  peddler  was  not  unlike 
most  peddlers  in  Italy,  and  never  missed  a  chance 
of  making  a  good  trade,  no  matter  whether  it  was 
in  his  line  of  business  or  not.  But  Raffaello  was 
not  inclined  to  favor  this  proposal ;  he  did  not 
feel  that  his  curls  were  his  own  to  give  away,  and 
Faustina  had  allowed  him  only  the  price  of  a  bun, 
so  he  said  timidly,  — 

"  For  how  much  would  you  sell  them  ?" 

"Suffocation!  What  a  stupid  bimbo  you  are! 
You  will  not  give  your  curls  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  Faustina  would  not  like  it." 

"A  florin,1  then!" 

1  The  largest  of  Florentine  silver  coins,  worth  about  fifty  cents. 


"  I  know  what  sort  of  paste  you  are  made  of,  you  ! ; 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  8 1 

That  was  so  much  money  that  Raffaello  drew 
back,  and  eyed  the  small  copper  coins  in  his  hand 
with  a  disappointed  look,  while  the  peddler  gave 
a  great  shout  of  laughter  at  his  discomfiture. 

"  Hold  your  noise,  you  braying  donkey ! " 
shouted  a  deep  voice  from  across  the  way.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  parrying  with  a  bimbo  not  a 
quarter  your  size  !  A  bad  digestion  to  you ! " 

Raffaello  looked  up,  —  they  were  standing  on  a 
corner  of  the  Via  Porta  Rossa,  near  the  Mercato 
Nuovo,1  — and  he  saw  a  large  fat  man,  with  a  very 
familiar  face,  and  a  recognizable  glazed  hat  resting 
indifferently  on  his  left  ear,  sitting  beside  a  vege- 
table stall  shelling  peas. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  Signer  Camillo  !  "  cried  Raffaello, 
in  pleasant  surprise. 

"  Purgatory  take  me,  if  it  is  n't  the  good 
bimbo ! "  ejaculated  the  crimsoned-face  cocchiere. 
"  What  mischievous  luck  has  brought  you  in  com- 
pany with  that  blear-eyed  turnip  of  a  peddler! 
Ecco!  I  know  what  sort  of  paste  you  are  made  of, 
you !  "  and  he  doubled  up  his  fist  at  the  man  with 
a  significant  thrust. 

"  Altro  !  Sor  cocchiere?  I  was  but  jesting  with  the 
youngster,"  said  the  peddler,  apologetically ;  "  he  's 

1  The  New  Market.  2  Sir  coachman. 

6 


82  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

such  a  pretty  pigeon,  and  he 's  got  such  pretty 
curls  ! "  and  again  the  large  hand  was  stretched  out 
to  stroke  the  coveted  treasure. 

"  Saperlotti  !  keep  your  hands  off  him,  will  you  ! " 
growled  the  infuriated  Camillo,  suddenly  feeling  a 
certain  proprietorship  in  the  little  boy,  and  flinging  a 
handful  of  empty  shells  at  the  too  familiar  tradesman. 

"  Che,  eke"  retorted  the  man.  "  I  'm  not  going 
to  do  him  any  harm  !  Do  you  think  I  've  got  the 
plague  ?  " 

"A  plague  on  you  for  your  impudence!  Get 
along  with  you,  and  your  silly  traffic ;  get  along, 
and  break  stones  at  Carrara,  and  leave  the  peddling 
to  the  women  and  the  children  ! "  and  Camillo's 
face  grew  quite  blue  with  indignation. 

"  Fie  ! "  remonstrated  the  peddler,  with  a  grimace. 
"  I  'm  only  having  a  little  game  with  the  boy.  What 
have  you  got  to  say  about  it ;  he 's  not  your  bimbo, 
is  he  ? " 

"Never  you  mind  whose  bimbo  he  is.  if  you 
want  to  sell  him  the  beads  for  what  they  are  worth,  — 
which  is  n't  half  the  price  of  this  chestnut,"  and  he 
sent  the  brown  missile  dexterously  at  the  peddler's 
nose,  —  "  sell  them.  If  not,  get  along  with  you  ! " 

All  this  was  shouted  back  and  forth  across  the 
way,  for  the  streets  in  that  quarter  of  Florence  are 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  83 

so  narrow  that  it  is  not  worth  one's  while  to  cross 
over  to  carry  on  a  conversation,  and  by  this  time  a 
curious  crowd  had  gathered  to  witness  the  fun,  and 
to  urge  the  irate  cocchiere  with  shouts  of,  "  That 's 
it,  Camillo !  Roast  him,  roast  him,  to  the  ears ! " 

Camillo  needed  no  urging,  for  he  was  in  his 
element  whenever  he  saw  a  good  opportunity  for 
"  roasting  "  a  fellow-creature.  Everybody  knew  him 
to  be  a  match  for  all  the  other  "  cabbies  "  i-n  the 
city  put  together. 

When  Raffaello  told  him  that  he  wished  to  pur- 
chase the  red  beads,  he  immediately  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  a  bargain  with  cheerfulness.  The 
peddler,  as  a  matter  of  course,  asked  a  ridiculously 
large  sum  for  the  rosary ;  and  Camillo  offered  him 
a  ridiculously  small  one.  The  matter  finally  ended 
in  Raffaello's  obtaining  the  pretty  trinket  for  just 
the  price  of  his  bun,  and  in  his  sharing  the  dinner 
of  the  kind-hearted  coachman,  who  felt  it  his 
duty  to  reward  the  little  boy  for  his  generous 
deed. 

It  was  about  noon,  and  he  sat  down  on  a  low  box 
beside  Camillo,  at  the  latter's  invitation,  in  front 
of  the  vegetable  stall,  and  waited  until  the  owner  ot 
the  shop  brought  them  a  bowl  of  hot  soup  and  a 
square  of  bread.  The  owner  of  the  shop  was  a 


84  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

friend  of  Camillo's,  —  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg  and 
a  pleasant  face,  —  who  was  known  as  "  Giojoso,"  in 
the  neighborhood,  because  he  was  such  a  cheerful 
and  amiable  person. 

"  Is  this  where  you  live  ?  "  inquired  Raffaello  of 
the  cocchiere. 

"No,  no,  mignone^  have  you  forgotten  I  told 
you  that  I  lived  behind  the  Badia,  in  a  garret  with 
the  madre  and  the  parrot?  This  is  Giojoso's 
shop." 

"  Why  do  you  shell  peas  here,  instead  of  driving 
your  splendid  carriage  ? "  Raffaello  ventured  to  ask  ; 
for  he  could  not  understand  why  Camillo,  who 
appeared  to  him  a  very  grand  and  mighty  person- 
age, should  be  sitting  at  another  man's  door  en- 
gaged in  such  a  very  trivial  occupation. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Raffaello  mio" said  his  fat  friend, 
stretching  his  legs  very  far  out  in  front  of  him, 
and  nodding,  as  if  he  were  about  to  tell  him  some- 
thing very  private  and  confidential,  "  we  cocchieri 
are  not  a  rich  tribe ;  we  're  a  lot  of  miserable 
beggars,  that 's  what  we  are !  That,"  and  he 
pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  "  splendid  carriage  " 
and  the  nag,  which  were  stationed  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  where  he  sat,  — "  why.  what  with  these 

1  A  pet  name. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  85 

new-fangled  omnibuses  travelling  all  over  the  city 
for  a  song,  that  hardly  earns  enough  in  one  day 
to  buy  a  good  meal  at  night  for  the  madre  and 
the  parrot.  And  when  one  has  an  old  madre  to 
look  after,  one  must  look  about  for  something 
more  to  do  during  the  idle  moments.  Giojoso, 
here,  is  a  good  fellow  ;  and  in  the  warm  season, 
when  the  cooks  are  lazy,  and  want  to  buy  their 
peas  already  shelled,  and  their  beans  already 
strung,  I  come  here  and  sit,  and  shell  the  peas  for 
Giojoso  ;  and  he  gives  me  my  dinner  for  my  pains, 
and  a  bit  of  cheese  and  a  handful  of  figs  to  take 
home  besides.  Ho,  ho,  ho,  Giojoso  is  a  good 
fellow ;  and  may  San  Pietro  help  him  up  to  Para- 
dise ! "  cried  the  hearty  Camillo,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  the  wooden-leg  ambling  towards  them,  and  then 
of  the  steaming  soup. 

This  was  all  rather  mysterious  to  little  Raffaello. 
He  watched  his  good-natured  friend  with  renewed 
interest,  without  being  able  to  understand  what  it 
was  that  made  him  so  jolly,  for  he  had  said  that 
he  was  poor.  Raffaello  always  fancied  that  it  was 
because  they  were  so  poor  that  Faustina  grumbled 
and  scolded  so  much.  Camillo  was  the  drollest 
person  he  had  ever  seen.  He  seemed  to  be  always 
laughing  ;  even  while  he  used  his  strongest  language 


86  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

with  his  adversary  a  moment  ago,  there  had  been 
a  smile  lurking  in  every  wrinkle  of  his  good  face. 

"  I  like  you  very  much,  Camillo,"  said  the  child, 
innocently,  having  suddenly  come  to  that  conclu- 
sion, as  he  sat  watching  the  great  gulps  of  hot  soup 
that  disappeared  down  Camillo's  throat,  "  and  I 
wish  I  could  see  you  often  when  I  come  to  the 
city." 

"  That 's  a  bargain,  bimbo ! "  cried  the  cocchiere, 
chucking  him  under  the  chin.  "  Come  right  here 
when  you  want  to  find  me  and  my  nag.  We  are 
here  every  day  at  noon  ;  and  some  day,  when  we  are 
not  in  a  tremendous  hurry,  I  will  take  you  up  to 
see  the  madre  and  the  parrot.  Oh,  they  're  a  pair ! 
They  talk  at  each  other  without  taking  any  notice 
of  what  the  other  says ;  and  they  quarrel  like  two 
old  roosters." 

Raffaello  thought  that  it  would  be  very  amusing 
to  hear  the  parrot  talk;  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  take  the  first  opportunity  that  was  offered  him, 
of  becoming  better  acquainted  with  Camillo,  as  the 
simple  old  fellow  went  on  to  relate  more  of  the 
pleasures  and  delights  of  his  home  life. 

There  was  a  bright  display  of  fresh  vegetables 
in  front  of  Giojoso's  shop,  relieved  h.ere  and  there 
with  a  touch  of  scarlet  tomato  and  ruby-red  rad- 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  87 

ishes,  and  baskets  of  large  rosy  berries  that  were 
brought  from  Al  Prato.  Inside,  there  were  dried 
figs  and  nuts,  and  sweet  yellow  butter,  and  creamy 
cheeses ;  and  there  was  also  a  big  white  cat,  not  so 
large  or  so  handsome  as  Minnetto,  to  be  sure,  and 
not  so  lazy  either,  for  this  one  had  a  famous  reputa- 
tion for  catching  rats  and  mice ;  and  the  cheeses 
and  the  macaroni  were  as  safe,  when  he  was  about, 
as  if  they  had  been  in  the  Pope's  coffers,  so  Giojoso 
said.  Then,  there  was  a  very  old  blue  and  white 
Madonna  over  the  door,  with  a  small  red  oil-lamp 
burning  under  it  night  and  day,  and  some  queer 
faded  old  paintings  on  the  sides  of  the  wall. 
Raffaello  made  a  mental  note  of  all  these  things  in 
Giojoso's  little  shop,  before  taking  his  leave,  that  he 
might  be  sure  to  find  the  place  again  when  he 
returned  the  following  week  to  see  Camillo.  Then 
he  said  good-bye  to  his  new  friends,  thanking  them 
heartily,  and  hurried  away,  hugging  the  precious 
beads,  to  meet  Luigi  and  his  brothers  at  the 
accustomed  place. 

When  he  showed  the  lovely  rosary  to  Faustina 
that  evening,  she  was  not  as  gracious  or  as  pleased 
as  he  had  hoped.  She  mumbled  something  about 
his  taste  being  much  too  fine  for  his  purse,  and 
said  "  what  need  had  she  of  a  coral  rosary !  The 


88  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

Madonna  had  paid  no  heed  to  her  prayers  all  these 
years,  as  she  said  them  over  the  black  wooden 
beads ;  did  he  think  she  would  listen  better  if  she 
said  them  over  the  red  ones  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  them,"  said  Raffaello, 
feeling  a  little  disappointed,  though  if  he  had  been 
older  and  wiser,  he  would  have  known  that  it  was 
Faustina's  habit  never  to  seem  pleased  with  any- 
thing. "  Luigi's  mother  has  some  corals,  and  I 
wanted  you  to  have  some  too." 

"  Humph  !  "  grumbled  Faustina,  "you  are  a  silly 
bimbo  for  giving  away  your  money  for  such  a 
trinket.  How  much  did  you  pay  for  it?" 

Raffaello  told  her,  and  also  that  he  had  met  the 
jolly  cocchiere,  who  had  invited  him  to  share  his 
dinner  after  the  purchase  was  concluded.  Faustina 
had  not  the  heart  to  express  any  further  disapproval 
when  she  learned  that  the  gift  had  been  bought 
with  the  few  cents  she  had  told  him  to  spend  for 
his  meal.  So  she  said  nothing  more ;  but  she  laid 
the  beads  carefully  away  in  the  locked  box,  beside 
the  little  gold  medal,  as  if  she  considered  them 
something  very  precious. 


CUMMER  was  now 
gone,  and  the  lovely 
autumn  had  taken  its 
place.  Florence  was  not 
much  changed  in  the  six  months  that  had  passed 
since  the  joyful  feast  of  the  Pasqua.  The  yellow 
Arno  was  only  a  little  darker  with  reflections  of  the 
deepening  autumn  hues  upon  the  surrounding  land- 
scape ;  but  its  swift,  silent  course  was  the  same. 
The  gray  mass  of  old  palaces  was  not  more  hoary ; 
the  fair  towers  rising  up  against  the  clouds  wrere 
not  less  'fair,  as  they  looked  down  in  all  their 
majesty  upon  the  changeless  city.  For  what  are 
six  months  to  a  city  that  has  stood  six  'hundred 
years  ?  —  a  city  whose  temples,  and  towers,  and 
palaces  have  only  turned  a  little  grayer  as  each 
generation  of  men  has  passed  away  and  left  them 


90  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

standing  there,  immovable,  like  fair  symbols  of 
eternity ;  a  city  whose  every  street-stone  could  tell 
a  story  of  the  great  mysterious  past,  whose  every 
bell,  as  it  rings  out  upon  the  evening  stillness,  is 
singing  the  praises  of  its  great  and  glorious  dead. 
To  a  city  like  Florence,  years  are  nothing. 

But  to  a  little  boy  like  Raffaello  the  short  space 
of  six  months  often  makes  a  great  change  in  his 
life.  Raffaello  had  grown,  in  those  few  months, 
to  know  and  love  the  beautiful  old  city,  and  to 
feel  happiest  when  he  was  wandering  about  its 
narrow  streets,  or  sitting  quiet  in  one  of  its  vast 
silent  churches,  where  the  people  came  and  knelt 
a  few  moments  on  their  various  ways.  He  thought 
a  great  deal  in  those  days,  for  he  was  just  reaching 
the  age  when  little  folk  wonder  at  the  things 
they  see,  and  like  to  ask  questions  about  them. 
Raffaello  knew  very  few  people  with  whom  he  felt 
free  enough  to  ask  questions :  of  Faustina,  he 
would  not  dare ;  of  Minnetto  it  would  be  of  no 
use,  because  Minnetto  was  such  a  conservative 
old  creature  that  he  never  committed  himself 
by  words.  There  was  really  no  one  but  Camillo, 
the  cocchiere,  and  Raffaello  found  endless  pleasure 
in  his  weekly  visits  to  the  old  fellow.  He  always 
came  away  with  a  higher  opinion  of  the  coachman's 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  91 

knowledge ;  for  Camillo  knew  everybody,  and 
everything  that  had  happened  in  his  generation. 
He  knew  the  city  like  a  book,  and  he  helped 
Raffaello  to  find  his  way,  taught  him  the  names  of 
the  streets  and  churches,  showed  him  the  places  most 
frequented  by  the  great  and  rich  people,  and  had 
even  told  him  the  names  of  some  of  them. 

As  long  as  the  season  lasted,  Camillo  held  his 
post  at  the  vegetable  stall,  and  shelled  peas  and 
strung  beans  for  Giojoso  of  the  wooden  leg,  and 
earned  his  dinner  thereby ;  and  he  lost  no  chance  of 
quarrelling  with  the  passers-by,  or  of  entering  into 
a  dispute  with  those  who  came  there  to  market. 
But  he  was  always  kind  to  little  Raffaello,  and  in 
time  grew  very  fond  of  him. 

But  now  that  the  summer  was  gone,  and  the 
rainy  days  were  beginning,  and  people  did  not 
enjoy  walking  about  in  the  wet,  Camillo's  own  busi- 
ness grew  more  thriving,  and  Raffaello  did  not 
see  him  quite  so  often.  So  he  took  to  going  into 
the  churches  through  the  day  to  rest  and  spend 
what  time  he  had  left,  quietly  looking  at  the  old 
frescos  on  the  walls,  and  at  the  bright-colored 
window-glass,  and  the  strange  waxen  images  of  the 
saints  in  the  little  chapels. 

It   happened  to    be  on  the  feast  of  All  Saints, 


92  A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

that  autumn,  that  Raffaello  first  strayed  into  the 
old  piazza  of  Santissima  Annunziata.  This  was 
one  of  the  few  places  where  he  had  not  been,  and 
his  attention  was  immediately  drawn  to  the  old 
portico  of  the  church,  where  numbers  of  people 
were  going  in  with  wreaths  of  immortelles  to  lay 
at  some  altar,  in  memory  of  their  dear  ones.  It 
was  after  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  masses  were  over. 
Raffaello  followed  the  crowds  through  the  little 
court-yard  that  leads  into  the  church.  There  were 
many  worshippers  there  still,  of  all  sorts  and  classes 
of  people ;  for  the  Annunziata  is  open  to  all  on 
feast  days,  though  ordinarily  it  is  the  place 
where  the  nobility  go  to  worship.  Some  were  tell- 
ing their  beads,  others  were  laying  their  wreaths 
at  the  foot  of  the  altars,  others  were  sitting  on 
low  stools  in  prayerful  meditation ;  others,  feeling 
strange,  like  little  Raffaello,  were  looking  about  at 
people,  and  wondering  at  the  vastness  of  those  great 
aisles  in  which  the  multitude  seemed  to  lose  itself 
as  soon  as  it  entered.  As  Raffaello  stood  near 
the  steps  of  one  of  the  little  side-chapels,  which  is 
the  shrine  of  Saint  Joseph,  the  patron  saint  of  all 
little  children,  he  noticed  a  very  tall  old  gentleman, 
with  long  white  hair  and  a  thin  white  face,  who  was 
kneeling  at  this  altar.  Very  near  him  was  a  young 


"  He  clasped  his  hands  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  her." 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  95 

girl  who  also  knelt  and  prayed.  She  was  dressed  in 
white,  and  her  rich  dark  hair  fell  over  her  shoulders. 
Her  hands  were  clasped  and  her  head  bowed,  and 
Raffaello  could  see  her  clear  fine  profile  delicately 
outlined  against  the  dark  wall  of  the  chapel.  It 
was  a  beautiful  face,  gentle,  pious,  and  womanly, 
though  it  was  very  young,  of  that  delicate  texture 
and  coloring  that  is  seen  only  among  the  high-born 
and  high-bred  people  of  that  country. 

The  light  of  the  tall  wax  candles  fell  upon  her 
and  shed  such  a  lustre  on  her  rich  hair  that  it 
shone  all  about  her  head  like  an  aureole;  and 
Raffaello  thought  she  must  be  one  of  the  lovely 
painted  saints,  until  she  rose  and  turned  away  from 
the  altar,  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  old  man.  As 
they  passed,  the  edge  of  her  white  dress  softly 
brushed  Raffaello's  cheek.  He  clasped  his  hands 
and  fell  on  his  knees  before  her.  But  she  did  not 
see  him ;  she  was  helping  the  old  signor  down 
the  two  or  three  steps,  and  whispering  words  of 
comfort  in  his  ear,  though  her  own  beautiful  eyes 
were  tearful,  and  her  lips  trembled  as  she  spoke. 

"  Dio  mio!  "  whispered  little  Raffaello  under  his 
breath,  "  it  is  an  angel ! "  and  he  watched  them 
walking  slowly  down  the  aisle  until  the  two  figures 
had  disappeared  behind  the  heavy  door. 


96  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

The  moment  the  bright  vision  was  gone,  Raffaello 
felt  a  vague  sense  of  loneliness,  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly lost  something  very  dear.  Child-like,  he 
followed  his  first  impulse,  which  was  to  go  out  after 
them  and  look  again  at  the  beautiful  face.  When 
he  reached  the  portico,  the  old  gentleman  was 
already  seated  in  an  elegant  closed  carriage  which 
bore  a  rich  monogram  on  the  door,  and  was  drawn 
by  two  handsome  horses.  She  was  standing  on 
the  edge  of  the  walk,  giving  charities  to  a  num- 
ber of  ragged-looking  children  that  stood  around. 
Raffaello  would  have  gone  nearer,  just  to  receive 
one  glance  from  her  sweet  dove-like  eyes,  except 
for  the  dread  he  had  of  being  thought  a  beggar. 
He  stood  a  little  hidden  behind  one  of  the  arches 
of  the  portico,  and  saw  her  re-enter  the  carriage, 
and  take  her  pfece  beside  the  white-haired  old  man. 

They  drove  across  to  the  left  of  the  square,  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  old  Foundling's  Hospital, 
the  oldest  in  Florence,  where  the  great  Lucca  della 
Robia's  famous  "  infants  in  swaddling-clothes  "  still 
adorn  the  tops  of  its  low  stone  arches.  Raffaello 
saw  a  man  come  out  of  the  door  of  the  hospital  and 
hold  a  box  to  the  window  of  the  carriage,  and  again 
he  saw  the  beautiful  signorina  l  as  she  leaned  out 

1  Young  lady. 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  97 

and  dropped  some  large  gold  pieces  in  the  box. 
Then  they  turned  down  into  the  via  della  Colonna, 
and  the  big  horses  went  so  fast  that  Raffaello  soon 
lost  sight  of  them. 

Who  was  she  ;  and  where  were  the  horses  run- 
ning away  with  her  so  fast,  so  fast  ?  What  was 
it  that  had  made  his  little  hands  grow  cold,  and 
his  cheeks  burn  when  he  had  caught  sight  of  her 
face  ;  that  made  him  feel  sad  now  that  she  was  gone ; 
that  made  him  wish  he  could  have  known  her  and 
loved  her  like  the  dear  Madonna  to  whom  he  prayed 
with  childish  faith,  but  who  seemed  always  so  very 
far  away  ? 

Raffaello  had  never  before  seen  any  one  who 
made  him  feel  like  this.  He  had  seen  many  pretty 
faces  and  great  ladies  at  the  Mercato  Nuovo  on  a 
Thursday  morning,  buying  flowers ;  but  he  had 
never  seen  a  face  just  like  hers.  It  was  so  sweet 
and  so  sad,  as  if  some  sorrow  had  already  shadowed 
her  bright  young  beauty.  He  had  no  more  rest, 
now ;  his  young  and  quick  imagination  began  at 
once  to  weave  a  web  of  golden  fancies  about  the 
fair  signorina.  That  night,  as  he  and  Minnetto 
were  sitting  close  together  beside  the  kitchen  fire, 
he  took  the  sleepy  creature  into  his  confidence. 

"  Minnetto,"  he  whispered,  putting  his  lips  close 

7 


98  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

to  the  fidgeting  ear  of  the  cat,  "  I  have  seen  to-day 
the  most  beautiful  signorina  in  the  world!" 

Minnetto  looked  from  the  fire  to  Raffaello,  and 
the  pupils  of  his  big  yellow  eyes  were  like  two  long 
exclamation  points,  with  the  air  of  one  who  should 
say,  "  Well,  indeed !  and  what  of  that,  you  pretty, 
silly  bimbo?" 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know,  Minnetto,  how  lovely 
she  is ;  you  have  never  seen  any  one  like  her.  She 
has  a  face  like  an  angel's,  and  her  eyes  are  like 
those  of  the  painted  Madonna  above  the  altar  of 
San  Gaggio.  I  saw  her  at  the  church  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  know  she  is  a  great  lady,  for  she  rides  in 
a  grand  carriage,  and  she  gives  money  to  the  poor. 
I  shall  ask  Camillo  about  her  when  I  see  him. 
Camillo  knows  everybody  ;  he  will  know  about  her, 
and  perhaps  he  will  tell  me  where  I  may  go  and 
see  her  again.  And  if  you  are  such  a  lazy,  bad 
pussy,  Minnetto,  you  will  never  see  her,"  said 
Raffaello,  playfully  frowzling  the  big  head. 

For  Minnetto,  who,  as  I  have  said  before,  was  not 
a  sympathetic  listener,  had  by  this  time  found  his 
accustomed  place  in  the  hollow  of  Raffaello's  elbow, 
and  was  purring  and  snoozing  contentedly. 


next  time  Raffaello  was  in  the 
city,  he  went  in  search  of  Camillo 

at  his  own  dwelling  behind  the   Badia. 

It  was  several  weeks  since  he  had  seen 
his  good  friend,  and  he  could  stand  the  separa- 
tion no  longer.  Besides,  he  might  not  be  going  to 
Florence  every  week,  now  that  the  flowers  were  all 
gone,  and  Luigi  and  his  brothers  would  not  be 
using  the  cart  any  more ;  for  Pierrota  was  getting 
so  old  and  so  unreasonable  that  it  was  easier  for 
the  two  elder  lads  to  walk  the  distance  than  to  try 
to  make  any  amicable  arrangement  with  the  donkey 
for  going  quietly  and  peaceably  on  her  way. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Raffaello 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little  garret  of  one  of 
the  old  stone  houses  in  the  Via  Condotta.  He  had 
climbed  so  many  crooked  winding  steps  to  reach 
the  top  that  he  was  obliged  to  stop  to  catch  his 
breath  before  lifting  the  big  iron  knocker. 


100  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  said  a  strange,  sharp,  croaking 
voice  from  within. 

Raffaello  timidly  gave  his  name. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  asked  the  voice,  with  a  very 
unmusical  laugh.  "Come  in,  stay  out!  ha,  ha,  ha! 
you  ugly  old  bird  ; "  and  then  there  was  a  sound  of 
much  fluttering  and  bumping  and  scratching,  and 
more  croaking,  as  if  a  flock  of  owls  had  been  sud- 
denly let  loose  in  the  room. 

Raffaello  hesitated  about  accepting  this  doubtful 
invitation,  which  had  come  from  the  parrot,  when  a 
key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  the  door  opened  just 
a  small  crack,  for  it  was  held  from  the  inside  by  a 
loose  chain.  A  very  withered  old  woman  appeared 
behind  the  crack,  and  Raffaello  judged  she  must  be 
Camillo's  mother.  The  old  woman  was  very  deaf, 
and  he  did  not  succeed  very  well  in  making  her 
understand  that  he  was  come  to  see  Camillo.  But 
the  parrot,  who  always  acted  as  interpreter  between 
any  strangers  and  the  old  lady,  and  whose  voice  was 
more  piercing  than  Raffaello's,  jumped  on  her  shoul- 
der and  screamed  in  her  ear,  "  Camillo !  Camillo ! 
You  ugly  old  bird  !  ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  saucy  brute ! "  returned 
the  madre,  as  she  loosened  the  chain  with  shaking 
finders,  and  beckoned  Raffaello  to  come  in.  The 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  IOI 

old  woman  looked  at  her  little  visitor  with  some 
curiosity,  and  mumbled  something  which  Raffaello 
could  not  make  out.  Evidently  Camillo  had  never 
mentioned  his  little  friend  at  home,  which  was  not 
surprising,  for  it  was  impossible  to  converse  intelli- 
gently with  the  old  mother  without  rousing  the 
whole  neighborhood,  and,  perforce,  taking  them  all 
into  his  confidence.  And  since  he  had  become  better 
acquainted  with  the  little  boy,  Camillo  had  especial 
reasons  for  keeping  his  interest  in  him  quiet. 

The  madre  was  kind  to  Raffaello,  and  gave  him  a 
little  stool  to  sit  on,  and  asked  him  to  wait  till 
Camillo  came  in,  which  would  be  very  soon.  For, 
like  the  good  son  that  he  was,  Camillo  always  made 
it  a  point  of  running  in  between  his  trips,  several 
times  through  the  day,  to  see  how  his  family  were 
faring. 

"  You  're  a  pretty  bimbo''  she  said,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  curls,  though  she  could  not  see  him 
well,  her  eyes  being  old  and  worn  out. 

"  A  pretty  bimbo  !  ha,  ha,  ha,  what  lies !  "  shrieked 
the  parrot. 

"  Don't  mind  that  stupid  creature,  he  's  a  hideous 
old  crow,"  said  the  madre,  making  as  if  she  would 
give  the  parrot  a  whack  with  her  stick,  though  she 
had  not  the  least  idea  of  what  he  was  saying. 


102  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  A  hideous  old  crow ! "  interrupted  the  saucy 
bird. 

"  He 's  the  bane  of  my  life,  he  's  so  ugly  and  he 
shrieks  so;  a  person  would  think  I  was  deaf!  I'll 
wring  your  neck  for  you,  you  old  torment,  if  you 
don't  stop  your  noise ! " 

The  parrot  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
bridling  and  sidling  up  to  the  old  woman  with  the 
most  provoking  impudence,  cocking  his  green  eye 
on  one  side,  and  saying  every  now  and  then,  "  Get 
along,  you  old  fright !  " 

Raffaello  thought  that  the  parrot  was  a  very 
daring  bird,  and  not  very  polite ;  but  he  was  cer- 
tainly very  droll,  especially  when  he  began  pecking 
at  the  old  lady's  toes,  and  she  made  at  him  with  her 
stick ;  while  he  flew  off  to  his  perch,  screaming, 
"Murder!  murder!  glory  be  to  Peter!" 

It  was  a  gloomy,  dingy  little  room,  in  spite  of  the 
liveliness  that  went  on  there  between  the  old  madre 
and  the  parrot.  It  being  immediately  under  the 
roof,  the  ceilings  were  crooked  and  slanting,  and 
Raffaello  could  see,  from  one  of  the  low,  narrow 
windows,  the  tops  of  all  the  high  buildings  on  the 
sunny  side  of  Florence,  and  bits  of  gardens  on  the 
roofs  of  other  dwellings,  and  people's  clothes  hang- 
ing out  to  dry  on  lines  stretched  across  from  house 


"  Get  along,  you  old  fright !  " 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  105 

to  house,  and  women,  babies,  and  cats  looking  out  of 
windows.  And  looking  down,  down  into  the  narrow 
streets  and  courts  below,  the  people  there  seemed 
to  Raffaello  no  bigger  than  dwarfs.  He  felt  very 
much  like  one  of  the  pigeons  of  the  Uffizzi,  as  he 
looked  out  of  that  small  opening ;  and  he  wondered 
how  the  people  here  could  live  contentedly  in  those 
high,  dreary  places,  without  ever  getting  a  breath 
of  the  pure,  fresh  air  of  the  open  country,  or  the 
sweet  scent  of  the  new-mown  grass,  and  with  only 
a  small  patch  of  sky  above  them  to  look  at. 

The  room  itself  was  bare  enough,  but  in  this 
respect  it  was  not  unlike  Faustina's  house.  The 
floor  was  laid  with  bricks,  and  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  carpet  or  rug  of  any  description  on  its 
chill  surface.  There  was  not  even  a  fire  in  the 
small  earthen  brazier  which  stood  in  the  hollow  of 
the  chimney,  and  which  was  lighted  and  kept  going 
with  a  few  bits  of  charcoal  only  when  it  was  neces- 
sary to  cook  a  meal,  although  it  was  already  far 
into  November.  But  the  madre  wore  a  flannel 
shawl  over  head  and  shoulders  to  keep  her  warm 
when  she  was  not  chasing  the  parrot  for  exercise, 
and  Coco,  the  bird,  had  a  nice  warm  coat  of  green 
and  yellow  feathers,  and  did  not  seem  to  mind  the 
cold  a  particle.  There  was  a  round  table  in  the 


106  A  CHILD  OF  TUSCANY. 

centre  of  the  room  spread  with  an  oil-cloth,  and  a 
few  wooden  chairs,  and  an  old  cupboard  with  only 
one  door,  from  which  the  madre  soon  began  to  take 
some  things  to  make  the  table  ready  for  Camillo's 
coming.  It  was  growing  late,  and  past  the  hour 
when  Raffaello  should  have  been  hastening  to  meet 
Luigi  and  the  cart  to  return  to  the  village ;  but  he 
was  so  interested  in  his  surroundings,  and  in  his 
desire  to  see  Camillo  and  talk  with  him  about  the 
beautiful  signorina^  that  he  quite  forgot  the  time  of 
day. 

It  was  not  long  before  some  one  came  puffing  up 
the  narrow  stairs,  singing  a  joyful  too-loo-rool,  that 
was  very  suggestive  of  the  master  of  the  house. 
A  tremendous  pounding  resounded  on  the  knocker, 
which  even  the  old  madre  heard,  and  presently  the 
beaming  face  of  the  good  cocchiere  appeared  in 
the  door. 

"  Cristoforo  Colombo  !  "  he  roared,  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  little  Raffaello.  "  Why,  mignone^ 
you  're  as  welcome  as  hot  macaroni  and  cheese ! 
What's  brought  you  here;  not  in  trouble,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Raffaello,  "  I  wanted  very  much 
to  see  you.  I  have  been  several  times  to  Giojoso's 
shop  to  find  you ;  but  Giojoso  said  you  were  very 
busy,  and  did  not  come  around  any  more." 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  1 07 

"  Giojoso  is  right,  I  have  been  busy  of  late,"  said 
Camillo,  with  a  very  mysterious  winking  of  one  eye. 
"  I  have  been  studying  some  ancient  history." 

"  I  remembered  that  you  said  you  lived  behind 
the  Badia,"  continued  Raffaello,  "  and  I  thought  you 
would  not  mind  if  I  came  to  see  you  here." 

"  Mind  ?  you  little  pigeon  !  Have  n't  I  said  that 
the  sight  of  your  pretty  face  is  as  good  as  Lourdes  l 
water  for  the  eyes  !  And  how  have  they  used  you, 
the  madre  and  the  parrot  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  kindly,"  said  Raffaello,  glancing  at 
the  old  dame,  who  was  now  very  busy  warming 
some  soup  that  had  onions  and  parsley  in  it,  and 
sent  out  the.  most  savory  vapors. 

"  That 's  well,"  rejoined  Camillo.  "  The  madre  is 
always  kind ;  but  the  parrot  is  a  beast ! " 

"  You  '11  never  die,  ha,  ha,  ha ! "  squalled  the 
parrot,  descending  from  his  perch  to  tweak  one  of 
Raffaello's  curls,  with  whom  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  familiar. 

"  Silence !  or  you  V/  die,  you  ugly  monster  !  " 
shouted  Camillo,  bouncing  upon  him,  and  giving 
his  tail  a  series  of  jerks  as  if  it  had  been  a  door-bell. 
"  I  '11  crack  your  stupid  skull  as  quick  as  I  would 
the  claw  of  a  lobster !  " 

i  Water  from  a  fountain  in  Southern  France,  which  is  supposed  to 
cure  the  blind. 


108  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  the  Tuscan  Polly  that 
his  nature  was  not  a  sensitive  one ;  for  each  time 
he  interrupted  the  conversation,  he  was  rebuffed  in 
the  same  unmistakable  terms  by  Camillo  or  the 
madre,  and  was  threatened  with  a  multitude  of 
tortures  which  neither  of  them  had  the  least  inten- 
tion of  carrying  out. 

"  And  so  you  remembered  that  I  lived  behind  the 
Badia,"  resumed  Camillo,  in  a  presto  change  of  tone, 
"  and  that  my  number  is  —  ?  " 

"  Twenty-one,"  said  Raffaello. 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  the  delighted  coachman. 
"  A  bimbo  who  does  not  forget  his  old  friend,  or 
his  old  friend's  number,  even  when  that  old  friend 
is  a  beggar  of  a  cocchiere,  —  that  bimbo,  I  say,  ought 
to  have  a  good  treat,  and  a  treat  he  shall  have; 
for  the  madres  soup  of  beans  is  the  best  to  be  had 
in  Florence ! "  and  he  drew  the  little  wooden  stool 
on  which  Raffaello  sat,  close  to  the  table,  and  took 
his  own  place  beside  him. 

It  was  such  a  new  thing  to  Raffaello  to  have  some 
one  talk  pleasantly  to  him,  and  take  a  friendly 
interest  in  him,  that  he  felt  quite  happy  whenever 
he  was  in  Camillo's  company.  '  Faustina  never 
treated  him  as  if  she  thought  him  of  any  more  con- 
sequence than  the  cat.  She  never  called  him  a 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  109 

good  bimbo,  or  a  pretty  pigeon,  or  showed  him  in 
any  way  that  she  was  fond  of  him ;  and  yet  he 
would  rather  have  had  that  from  her  than  anything 
else  she  could  do  for  him.  For  children  have  great 
need  of  kindness,  especially  when  their  own  nature 
is  gentle  and  loving.  Little  Raffaello  was  instinct- 
ively drawn  to  this  big,  hearty,  good-natured  man, 
in  spite  of  his  loud,  though  not  very  dangerous  bark, 
and  his  rough  and  red  exterior.  Indeed,  he  felt  a 
certain  security  in  having  Camillo  for  his  friend 
and  protector ;  and  his  admiration  for  and  confi- 
dence in  the  old  fellow's  opinion  on  almost  every 
subject,  were  boundless. 

Under  the  genial  influence  of  the  madrJs  good 
soup  and  Camillo's  broad  smiling  face,  Raffaello 
grew  quite  talkative,  and  even  confidential.  'He 
related  how  he  had  been  to  the  Annunziata  on  the 
feast  of  Ogni  Santi,  and  there  had  seen  the  beauti- 
ful signorina  and  the  white-haired  old  signor ;  how 
they  had  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  and  left  a 
wreath  of  white  flowers  for  Saint  Joseph  ;  and  how 
sad  the  signorina  looked,  and  how  he  had  thought 
of  her  every  day,  and  dreamed  of  her  every  night 
since.  Then  he  asked,  with  a  wistful  look  in  his 
big  soft  eyes,  — 

"  Do   you    know  where  she  lives,   Camillo,   and 


1 10  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

where  I  may  go  and  look  at  her  again  ?  I  have 
searched  for  her  every  time  1  have  been  in  the 
city,  but  I  have  never  seen  her  face  but  that  once,  — 
not  at  the  church,  nor  at  the  market  where  the 
great  ladies  come  to  buy  flowers  every  Thursday, 
not  anywhere.  And  so  I  thought  perhaps  you 
could  tell  me,  for  you  surely  know  everybody  who 
lives  in  Florence,  don't  you,  Camillo  ?  " 

Camillo  had  been  listening  very  attentively,  and 
very  quietly  for  him,  while  the  little  boy  was  speak- 
ing. His  mouth  was  screwed  up  mysteriously,  his 
eyes  were  partly  closed,  and  there  was  a  great 
wrinkle  across  his  forehead,  all  of  which  gave  him 
such  an  air  of  wisdom  and  secrecy  that  Raffaello 
felt  encouraged. 

"  Well,"  said  the  cocchiere,  draining  the  last  drop 
of  soup  from  his  bowl,"  Camillo  knows  nearly  every- 
body. If  there  is  anybody  worth  knowing  that  he 
doesrit  know,  it  won't  be  long  before  he  finds  them 
out.  Ecco !  what  is  a  coachman  good  for,  if  he 
doesn't  know  his  city  like  his  own  pocket?" 

Here  the  parrot  chimed  in,  "  Good  for  nothing, 
good  for  nothing,  you  old  rooster!"  whereupon 
Camillo  threatened  to  tear  out  his  heart  and  liver, 
in  parenthesis, 'and  then  resumed  amiably, — 

"  And  you  say  the  signorina  is  beautiful  ?  " 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  Ill 

"  Just  like  an  angel !  "  cried  Raffaello,  warmly. 

"  And  young  ?  about  how  young,  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Raffaello,  puzzled  ;  "  but 
she  is  nearly  as  tall  as  the  old  man,  for  he  is  bent,  and 
stoops  over  when  he  walks ;  and  she  wears  a  white 
dress  that  comes  down  to  her  feet,  like  the  ladies  I 
have  seen  in  the  gardens  of  the  palaces ;  but  her 
face  is  like  that  of  the  Babe  in  the  Madonna's  arms." 

"  And  what  color  are  her  eyes  ?  "  inquired  Camillo. 

"  Big  and  black,"  —  for  he  had  treasured  every 
feature  of  the  fair  face,  in  that  one  glance  when 
she  had  passed  so  close  to  him  in  the  church. 

"  And  they  ride  in  a  splendid  coach,  with  some- 
thing marked  on  the  door  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  little  crown  of  yellow,  and  something  like 
this  underneath  it ; "  and  Raffaello  traced  out  the 
imperfect  and  distorted  outline  of  a  capital  B  with 
his  spoon  upon  the  oil-cloth. 

"  And  you  say  they  turned  down  the  Via  della 
Colon na  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  giving  something  at  the  hospital." 

"  Che,  che,  Raffaellino !  they  belong  to  the  great 
signori,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  Whenever  you 
see  a  crown  on  a  coach-door,  those  who  ride  in  it 
are  none  of  your  common  popoli  who  barter  with  a 
poor  beggar  of  a  coachman  like  me  for  a  soldo  more 


112  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

or  a  soldo  less  !  Now,  you  don't  see  any  crown  on 
my  cab,  do  you,  Raffaellino?  Altro  /  that's  what 
comes  of  being  put  into  the  world  on  the  side 
where  the  scudi^  are  raining!"  and  Camillo 
laughed  long  and  loud  at  the  idea,  as  if  it  were  an 
immensely  amusing  one. 

Little  Raffaello  had  never  thought  of  drawing  any 
comparisons  between  the  signorinas  splendid  equi- 
page and  the  humble  public  conveyance  with  which 
Camillo  earned  his  living ;  but  he  laughed  too, 
simply  because  Camillo  was  laughing,  without  being 
in  absolute  possession  of  the  joke. 

"  If  you  should  be  near  the  Annunziata  on  a 
Sunday,"  suggested  Raffaello,  "  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  stop  in  the  piazza^  and  watch  for  her  to 
come  out  of  the  church.  I  should  love  to  have 
you  see  her,  Camillo." 

"  What  a  sly  little  rabbit ! "  and  the  cocchiere 
laughed  again.  "  What  do  you  think  will  come  of 
it,  if  I  do  see  your  lovely  signorina  ?  Do  you  think 
she  will  stop  me  on  the  street  to  ask  me  if  I  know 
any  pretty  bimbo  with  a  face  like  a  peach-blossom, 
who  would  like  to  come  and  be  her  page,  and  walk 
behind  her,  and  carry  her  fan,  and  pick  up  her 
kerchief,  and  admire  her  the  livelong  day  ?  " 

1  Gold  coins. 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  113 

This  was  a  daring  and  dangerous  suggestion 
for  Camillo  to  make,  for  immediately  Raffaello's 
eyes  lighted  up,  and  he  cried  eagerly,  "  Oh,  do  great 
ladies  ever  have  little  boys  come  and  stay  with 
them  like  that  ? "  and  a  vague  thought  flashed 
through  his  mind  of  how  it  would  seem  to  leave 
Faustina  and  Minnetto  and  the  little  hut,  and 
go  where  he  could  always  look  at  the  beautiful 
lady. 

"  Ah,  well,  they  do  it  sometimes,"  said  Camillo ; 
"  but  we  must  not  think  of  that  now.  Some  day,  I 
will  find  out  all  about  the  signorina  and  tell  you ; 
but  it  may  not  be  for  a  long  time,  for  I  am  a  man 
of  business  these  days,  and  have  n't  many  spare 
hours  to  go  loitering  around  the  church  to  see  pretty 
faces  coming  out  of  it !  "  And  Camillo  made  light 
of  the  matter,  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  give  it  much 
thought ;  but  he  did.  With  his  usual  aptitude  for 
unravelling  any  sort  of  mystery  that  chanced  in  his 
way,  he  added  this  little  circumstance  to  some  other 
facts  which  he  had  been  treasuring  in  his  own  mind 
for  some  time,  and  feeling  that  he  had  just  made 
another  cunning  discovery,  he  slapped  his  knee  and 
repeated  now  and  then,  "  Camillo,  you  're  as  sly  as 
an  old  eel ! " 

In  the  midst  of  this,  the  deep  tones  of  a  neigh- 

8 


114  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

boring  bell  broke  in  upon  them.  There  had  been 
a  short  pause  after  Camillo's  last  speech. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Raffaello,  startled  out  of 
his  reverie,  for  the  sound  was  very  near. 

"  It  is  the  bell  of  the  Badia  striking  the  seventh 
hour,"  said  Camillo. 

"  Oh,  is  it  so  very  late  ?  I  did  not  know  it ;  I  am 
afraid  Luigi  will  have  gone,  and  I  must  walk  back 
to  the  village !  And  Faustina,  oh,  she  will  be  so 
frightened!  she  will  think  I  am  lost!"  cried  little 
Raffaello,  in  dismay.  For  while  they  sat  conversing, 
he  had  not  thought  of  the  time,  and  had  not  noticed 
that  it  was  quite  dark  in  the  little  garret-room  now; 
for  the  sun  had  sunk  very  low,  and  the  hills  around 
the  city  were  darkening. 

"  San  Pietro !  It  is  late  for  a  little  contadino  to  be 
in  town.  We  have  been  chattering  like  two  mag- 
pies, and  letting  the  hours  run  by.  But  never  fear; 
you  will  not  have  to  walk  to  the  village.  It  would 
take  your  little  legs  so  long  that  Faustina  would 
think  the  locusts  had  eaten  you  on  the  way.  No, 
the  nag  is  downstairs,  waiting  at  the  door.  I  will 
take  you  at  once  to  the  piazza,  and  if  Luigi  is  gone, 
then  we  will  stretch  our  ride  a  little  further  and  take 
you  home.  The  nag  likes  nothing  better  than  a 
turn  in  the  country  after  trotting  on  hard  stones  all 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  115 

day;  and  her  legs  are  so  good  that  we  will  pass 
Pierrota  and  Luigi  on  the  way,  and  be  the  first 
ones  there." 

This  was  very  comforting  to  poor  Raffaello,  who 
had  begun  to  be  really  frightened  at  the  thought  of 
having  missed  his  little  companions  and  having  to 
go  that  long  distance  in  the  dark  alone.  But 
Camillo  was  such  a  good  friend !  He  was  always 
getting  the  little  boy  out  of  his  troubles. 

So  they  hurried  away  on  the  box  of  Camillo's 
coach  to  the  cathedral-square,  where,  seeing  no  sign 
of  Luigi,  or  of  the  cart  and  Pierrota,  they  speedily 
made  their  way  to  the  Porta  Romana,  and  were 
soon  on  their  way  to  Galluzzo. 

This  was  how  Camillo  came  to  make  his  first 
acquaintance  with  Faustina.  When  they  reached 
the  little  hut,  he,  of  course,  took  all  the  blame  of 
the  little  boy's  tardiness  upon  himself;  and  told 
such  funny  stories,  and  made  himself  so  thoroughly 
agreeable  to  Faustina,  who  was  really  very  grateful 
for  the  safe  return  of  the  child,  that  she  did  not 
utter  one  cross  word  or  reproach,  and  was  kinder 
to  Raffaello  that  evening  than  she  had  ever  been 
before. 


AFFAELLO  did  not  go  any 
more  into  the  city  for  the 
rest  of  that  year.  The  winter  set 
in  unusually  cold,  and  no  one 
cared  to  face  the  bleak,  chill  wind 
that  blew  over  from  the  distant  mountains,  un- 
less he  was  obliged  to  do  so.  The  people  in 
the  village  of  Galluzzo  were  very  much  like  ants 
who  work  all  summer  to  fill  up  their  store-houses 
and  shut  themselves  up,  never  putting  their  noses 
out,  during  the  wintry  season.  I  do  not  mean  that 
all  the  village  people  were  as  thrifty  and  as  wise  as 
the  frugal  ant,  for  many  of  them  suffered  bitterly 
on  account  of  their  improvidence  when  the  cold 
weather  came.  They  had  hard  work,  at  best,  to 
live  in  their  miserable  quarters,  and  might  have 
perished  but  for  the  help  of  their  more  prudent 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  117 

neighbors.  But  those  who  had  been  wise  enough 
to  lay  up  provisions  against  the  bad  days,  kept 
within  doors,  and  left  the  cold  weather  and  the  rest 
of  the  world  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Faustina  was  one  of  those  who  had  been  prudent, 
and  now  she  and  Raffaello  and  the  cat  lived  more 
secluded  and  alone  than  ever.  It  was  very  hard  for 
the  little  boy  to  spend  whole  days  in  the  dingy  hut, 
with  only  Faustina,  who  sat  knitting  and  grumbling, 
and  Minnetto,  who  lay  napping  and  purring,  and 
with  only  the  wail  of  the  wind  calling  dismally 
through  the  chimney  instead  of  Camillo's  hearty 
Jaugh ;  and  only  the  gray  outlook  of  the  barren  hills 
and  naked  trees,  instead  of  the  smiling,  flowery  wel- 
come of  the  lovely  city,  as  he  had  seen  it  first  that 
day  in  the  early  spring-time.  He  began  to  hate  the 
winter,  and  to  long  for  the  return  of  summer.  If 
he  had  never  known  that  joyous  freedom,  he  would 
have  been  no  worse  off  than  he  was  the  year  before 
at  that  time ;  he  would  have  gone  on  gathering 
wood  for  Faustina  to  burn,  and  milking  the  goat, 
and  fetching  the  grain  from  the  mill,  and  never 
dreamed  of  any  other  life.  But  now  that  his  expe- 
rience had  been  so  widened,  that  he  knew  the 
delights  of  the  city,  had  met  Camillo ;  now  that  he 
had  seen  the  beautiful  signorina!  Ah,  now,  indeed, 


Il8  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

it  was  very  different.  He  felt  sometimes  as  if  he 
could  never  wait  through  those  long,  long  days,  and 
sit  through  those  dreary,  cold  evenings,  until  the 
happy  spring  was  come  again,  when  he  might  seek 
the  places  and  the  people  that  he  loved. 

One  evening  when  he  and  Minnetto  sat  beside 
the  kitchen  hearth  where  the  fire  had  been,  but  was 
now  only  a  heap  of  black  ashes,  Raffaello  thought: 

"  Only  a  little  while  ago  the  twigs  were  burning 
and  crackling  and  sending  out  their  warmth  as  if 
they  were  happy,  and  now  they  are  all  black  and 
cold  and  look  dead,  and  must  stay  so  until  Faustina 
lights  the  fire  again  to-morrow  to  warm  the  milk. 
That  is  like  me ;  a  few  weeks  ago  I  was  in  Florence, 
and  the  sun  was  warm,  and  the  flowers  were  bright, 
and  I  was  with  Camillo  and  the  madre,  and  I  saw 
the  lovely  lady;  and  now,  everything  is  gray  and 
cold  and  gloomy  there,  and  I  must  stay  in  this  little 
hut  until  the  good  God  lights  the  fire  in  the  big  sun 
again,  and  makes  us  all  warm  and  happy." 

He  gave  a  sigh  that  sounded  so  loud  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  little  room,  that  Minnetto  opened  his 
sleepy  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  looked  at  him  inquir- 
ingly. Faustina  sat  beside  the  table  with  her  work 
in  her  lap.  She  did  not  look  up  when  she  heard 
the  sigh;  she  was  looking  at  him  already.  She  had 


A  CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  119 

been  watching  him  all  the  evening,  as  he  sat  on  his 
little  straw  cushion,  at  a  short  distance  from  her, 
holding  his  knees.  The  light  of  the  one  candle  fell 
full  on  his  face.  It  was  a  very  thoughtful  little  face 
His  large  dark  eyes  had  a  look  in  them  that  smote 
Faustina's  heart.  She  would  have  said  something 
kind  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  her;  but  she  could  not 
Habit  is  so  very  strong  in  people ;  and  it  had  been 
her  habit  for  many  years  to  speak  no  kind  word  to 
any  one.  Now,  as  she  watched  the  fair  young  face, 
and  guessed  that  he  was  thinking  of  things  about 
which  she  dared  not  ask,  she  would  have  given 
worlds  to  draw  him  to  her,  and  gain  his  confidence ; 
but  she  had  not  a  single  word  to  win  him.  She  felt 
a  great  deal  for  him ;  but  like  all  hard,  undemonstra- 
tive natures,  she  did  not  know  how  to  show  all  she 
felt.  In  the  bitterness  of  her  revengeful  feeling, 
she  had  taught  herself  to  scoff  at  every  tender  emo- 
tion ;  and  her  heart,  instead  of  being  a  sensitive 
human  thing,  full  of  sweet  sympathy,  was  like  a 
hard  shell. 

She  watched  little  Raffaello  until  she  thought  the 
sight  of  him,  looking  so  pensive  and  pitiful,  would 
drive  her  mad.  Then  she  said  suddenly,  and  in  her 
usual  harsh  tones,  — 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  thinking  all  evening, 


120  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

and  never  opening  your  mouth  any  more  than  the 
cat  ?  You  don't  think  I  am  good  enough  to  talk 
to,  perhaps,  now  you  Ve  got  your  fine  friends  in 
the  city!" 

"  Oh,  no,  Faustina,  it  is  not  that,"  replied  Raffaello, 
surprised  by  her  sudden  breaking  of  the  silence. 
"  I  would  indeed  like  to  talk  to  you,  if  you  did  not 
mind  my  doing  it.  There  are  so  many  things  I 
want  to  know." 

"  What  things  ?  "  asked  Faustina,  sharply. 

"  Things  about  myself.  I  have  often  wanted  to 
ask  you  why  I  never  had  any  mother  and  father, 
and  how  you  happened  to  take  me  to  live  with 
you." 

Faustina  took  her  eyes  away  from  him,  and 
looked  at  her  work  irresolutely  ;  then  she  said,  after 
a  pause,  — 

"  I  found  you." 

"  Found  me ! "  repeated  Raffaello,  in  great 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  found  you." 

"  Where  ?  "  inquired  Raffaello. 

"  Never  mind  where,"  returned  Faustina.  "  It 's 
enough  that  I  found  you  when  you  were  a  bam- 
binetto,  and  cared  for  you,  and  fed  you  ;  and  now 
it 's  a  pretty  reward  I  get  for  my  pains :  you  want 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  121 

to  turn  against  me  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
you  would  like  to  find  your  fine  father  and  mother, 
who  never  so  much  as  troubled  themselves  to  come 
to  Galluzzo  to  find  you  !  " 

Faustina  spoke  desperately.  The  thought  that 
Raffaello  might  wish  to  leave  her  to  go  to  others, 
stung  her  with  disappointment.  True,  she  had 
never  tried  to  make  him  love  her ;  but  she  had 
suffered  much  and  endured  much,  in  secret,  for  his 
sake.  Raffaello  did  not  know  this. 

The  little  boy  glanced  at  her  curiously  as  she 
spoke.  He  could  not  understand  it  all  at  once; 
but  the  one  thing  that  his  sensitive  nature  did 
understand,  was  that  Faustina  was  hurt.  He  went 
and  stood  beside  her,  and  timidly  put  his  hand  on 
her  knee,  and  said  as  gently  as  he  knew  how,  — 

"  Indeed,  Faustina,  I  never  wished  to  turn  against 
you,  or  to  give  you  pain.  You  have  been  very 
good  to  me.  If  you  could  only  love  me  a  little 
more,  and  be  happy,  I  am  sure  I  should  never  ask 
you  about  my  father  and  mother,  or  think  about 
them." 

Faustina  pushed  aside  the  candle  and  laid  her 
head  on  the  table  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  It  was  eighteen  years  since  she  had  shed 
a  tear;  but  there  was  an  unconscious  reproach  in 


122  A  CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

Raffaello's  last  words  that  touched  her,  and  she 
felt  the  justice  of  them.  For  one  moment,  the  ice 
in  her  heart  melted,  and  she  wept.  Raffaello  felt 
terribly  grieved.  Forgetting  her  harsh  words  and 
her  indifferent  treatment  of  him,  forgetting  his  own 
thoughts  and  hopes  that  he  had  cherished  but  a 
moment  ago,  forgetting  everything  save  that  she 
was  in  trouble,  instinctively  his  arm  stole  about  her 
neck,  and  he  laid  his  soft  round  cheek  against  her 
hard  one,  and  whispered,  — 

"  Dear  Faustina,  don't  cry,  please.  I  want  you 
to  be  happy,  and  when  I  am  older  I  want  to  take 
care  of  you,  and  give  you  all  you  need,  and  be 
good  to  you,  as  you  have  been  to  me." 

"  Ah,  Raffaello  mto"  said  Faustina,  "  but  that 
will  not  make  me  happy  any  more  than  I  have 
made  you  happy.  People  can  be  happy  with  very 
little  in  this  world,  if  they  only  have  plenty  of  love ; 
without  that  there  is  no  happiness  anywhere.  God 
has  taken  away  all  those  that  I  loved ;  he  will  take 
you  away,  too,  when  the  time  comes;  so  where  is 
the  use  of  my  loving  you,  or  your  caring  for 
me?" 

Raffaello  did  not  fully  grasp  the  true  wisdom  of 
these  words ;  but  he  knew  better  than  she  could 
tell  him  that  there  was  something  lacking  in  his 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  123 

feeling  for  her.  He  did  not  feel  towards  Faustina, 
with  whom  he  had  lived  always,  as  he  felt  towards 
the  beautiful  signorina  whom  he  had  seen  just  once, 
as  she  knelt  in  the  church.  There  was  a  hungry 
yearning  in  his  young  soul,  that  Faustina  could 
never  fill,  even  if  she  had  suddenly  turned  very 
kind  and  gentle  to  him.  Yet  he  was  desper- 
ately sorry  to  see  her  thus ;  he  would  have  pre- 
ferred that  she  had  scolded  him  or  sent  him  off  to 
his  bed. 

But  Faustina  did  not  send  him  off  this  time. 
The  tears  had  washed  some  of  her  bitterness  away, 
and  she  allowed  him  to  remain  near  her  a  long 
time  ;  but  she  did  not  say  anything  more. 

As  for  Raffaello,  he  was  more  perplexed  about 
himself  than  ever.  Faustina  had  found  him,  and 
his  parents  had  never  come  to  look  for  him.  Per- 
haps they  had  not  cared  about  him  any  more  than 
Faustina  did  ;  but  this  was  a  sad  thought.  Luigi's 
mother  cared  very  much  for  him  and  his  brothers ; 
even  Camillo  and  the  madre  were  very  fond  of  each 
other;  and  he  had  often  seen  mothers  with  little 
children  in  their  arms,  kissing  and  fondling  them. 
Why  was  it  so  different  with  him  ?  Camillo  was 
really  the  only  person  who  seemed  to  be  very  fond 
of  Raffaello ;  ever  since  that  day  when  he  had  first 


124  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

run  up  against  the  big  cocchiere,  in  front  of  the 
Duomo,  Camillo  had  been  his  friend,  and  had 
always  spoken  kindly  to  him,  and  made  much  of 
him.  But  now  even  Camillo  seemed  to  have  de- 
serted him,  for  it  was  many  weeks  since  he  had 
seen  or  heard  of  his  old  friend,  and  it  was  long  past 
the  Christmas-tide. 

It  was*  just  when  Raff aello  was  pondering  over  all 
this,  still  standing  close  to  Faustina  as  she  sat  with 
her  head  resting  on  the  table,  that  they  were  both 
roused  by  a  sudden  loud  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
hut.  They  were  startled  at  first,  for  a  visitor  at 
any  time  was  an  unusual  thing,  and  at  that  hour 
of  the  night  wras  unheard  of.  Before  Faustina 
could  get  to  the  door  to  unlatch  it,  the  knock  was 
repeated  with  even  more  force ;  and  when  Faustina 
opened  it,  who  should  burst  in,  with  a  merry  and 
hearty  laugh,  but  Camillo  himself,  whose  broad 
genial  face  was  like  a  sunbeam  in  the  middle  of 
the  night! 

Raffaello  gave  a  joyful  cry  and  ran  to  him,  saying, 
"  Oh,  Camillo,  where  have  you  been  ?  I  have  not  seen 
you  for  so  long !  "  Whereupon  the  jovial  cocchiere 
caught  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms  and  tossed  him 
up  to  the  ceiling,  with  a  cheery,  "  Ho,  ho,  bambinetto! 
I  have  been  studying  ancient  history,"- and  restored 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  125 

him  to  his  feet  again.  After  that,  he  extended  his 
large  palm  to  Faustina,  and  wished  her  a  "  Buon 
appetito  !  "  which  means  a  good  appetite,  and  was 
really  not  very  appropriate,  for  they  had  finished 
their  supper  long  ago.  But  Camillo  never  stopped 
at  such  a  small  thing  as  that ;  he  was  full  of  good 
feeling  and  good  news,  and  he  could  not  begin  to 
talk  soon  enough,  though  Faustina  looked  at  him  a 
little  suspiciously,  and  was  not  very  encouraging  at 
first. 

"  You  will  excuse  me  for  coming  at  this  late  hour, 
Monna  Faustina,"  he  said,  with  a  beautiful  bow,  and 
"a  wink  of  one  eye,  which  was  his  extremest  mode  of 
showing  respect.  "  But  good  news  is  like  cream  ;  it 
will  not  keep  over  night  without  turning  sour." 

"Good  news?"  asked  Faustina,  incredulously, 
"for  us!" 

"  Ecco  !  as  good  as  the  angel  Gabriel  himself  could 
bring.  I  tell  you,  my  good  woman,  it 's  a  precious 
piece  of  luck  for  this  young  rabbit  here ! "  and  he 
laid  his  rough  hand  gently  on  Raffaello's  curls. 

Faustina  turned  white.  She  was  always  fearful 
of  every  little  incident  that  came  into  their  quiet 
lives,  lest  it  might  prove  to  be  the  very  thing  by 
which  she  should  lose  Raffaello.  She  felt  that  he 
would  be  taken  from  her  sometime.  She  had  said 


126  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

so  to  herself  a  great  many  times ;  she  had  said  it  to 
the  little  boy  that  night.  He  did  not  rightfully 
belong  to  her.  She  had  hidden  him  away  from 
every  one  as  long  as  she  could ;  but  now  he  was 
grown  beyond  her,  and  he  would  soon  be  found  out. 
For  that  reason,  she  could  not  help  feeling  doubtful 
and  suspicious  of  any  stranger  who  seemed  to  take 
any  interest  in  him. 

"  Well  ? "  said  she,  after  a  pause,  during  which 
Canlillo  had  been  winking  and  nodding  and  gestic- 
ulating mysteriously  for  Raffaello's  benefit.  "  And 
what  is  your  good  news,  Sor  cocchiere?  It  is  well 
you  brought  it,  for  it  might  have  felt  a  stranger 
in  this  neighborhood,  if  it  had  come  alone;  there 
is  little  enough  that's  good  ever  finds  its  way 
here ! " 

"  Che,  che,  Monna  Faustina!  You  speak  as  if  you 
had  eaten  too  much  pepper-weed.  But  you  will  be 
as  sweet  as'  honey  when  I  tell  you  what  rare  good 
fortune  has  befallen  this  young  cherub.  Look  at 
him  !"  and  again  he  smoothed  Raffaello's  hair,  "you 
who  talk  of  nothing  good  ever  finding  its  way  here ; 
did  n't  lie  come  to  you  ?  Look  at  him,  and  tell  me 
if  there  is  another  such  a  cherub-face  outside  of 
canvas ! " 

Faustina  did  not  look  at  Raffaello,  whose  face  was 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  127 

delicately  flushed  and  whose  big  eyes  were  bright 
with  expectation.  She  was  anxiously  watching 
Camillo. 

"  That 's  where  your  good  fortune  lies,  friend 
Faustina,"  continued  the  coachman,  with  growing 
animation,  and  pointing  straight  at  Raffaello.  "  Any 
of  our  young  artists  would  pay  a  fine  sum  for  such 
a  model  as  that  to  paint  from  ;  and  sitting  for  them 
is  a  pleasanter  task  than  digging  turnips  this  cold 
weather,  let  me  tell  you ;  it 's  only  a  matter  of  keep- 
ing still  and  looking  pretty  for  an  hour  or  two  each 
day ;  and  that 's  easy  enough  for  those  who  can  do 
it !  Though  I  could  bet  you  an  artichoke  that 
some  of  us  would  feel  like  sour  crabs  at  it ; "  and 
Camillo  laughed  such  a  tremendous  laugh  at  his 
own  joke  that  he  woke  Minnetto  out  of  a  sound 
sleep.  "  Now,  I  know  one  Mariotto  who  is  on  the 
search  for  just  such  a  bimbo"  pursued  Camillo,  as 
no  one  chose  to  interrupt  him  in  his  disclosures, "  to 
put  in  his  picture.  It  is  the  picture  of  an  angel 
leading  a  little  child  ;  I  have  seen  it.  The  angel  is 
good ;  but  the  child,  oh,  Santa  Lucia !  he  makes  a 
new  face  for  it  every  day,  and  can  never  get  in  the 
right  one.  He  is  painting  it  for  a  rich  old  signer 
who  has  a  thousand  notions,  and  is  as  hard  to  please 
as  the  Pope  himself;  but  he  will  pay  a  fortune  to 


128  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

the  man  who  paints  the  right  sort  of  face  on  that 
bimbo" 

Camillo  looked  about  to  see  what  effect  his 
remarks  had  produced  on  the  little  company. 
Raffaello's  round  eyes  were  still  fastened  on  him, 
and  Faustina  only  opened  her  mouth  to  say 
hoarsely,  — 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Well,  I  told  Mariotto  that  I  knew  a  cherub 
whose  face  would  surely  do  for  the  picture ;  and  he 
said : '  Bring  him  to  me  if  his  eyes  are  dark  and  hand- 
some enough,  and  have  a  look  in  them  like  those  of 
the  Holy  Infant  in  the  Madonna's  arms,  and  if  his 
cheeks  are  the  color  of  rose-petals,  and  his  mouth 
makes  a  pure  arch  like  that  of  a  young  moon ;  then, 
bring  him  to  me,  and  I  will  make  his  fortune.' 
Now,  Monna  Faustina,  if.  you  do  not  call  that  the 
biggest  handful  of  cherries  that  ever  dropped  into 
your  lap,  then  I  'm  a  noodle,  that 's  all !  "  and  Camillo 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  tumbled  up  his  hair  in  a 
rakish  fashion,  and  puffed  out  his  red  cheeks  like 
two  balloons,  with  the  satisfied  air  of  one  who  has 
just  delivered  himself  of  some  very  grave  business. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  the  proposition  ?  "  he  asked, 
crossing  his  hands  on  his  broad  waistcoat,  and 
leering  archly  at  Faustina. 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  129 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  let  Raffaello  go  and 
sit  to  the  painter  every  day  ?  " 

"  Every  day  but  Sunday  and  the  festas,  till  the 
picture  is  finished,"  said  Camillo ;  "  and  come  back 
every  night  with  a  bright  round  silver  lira  in  his 
pocket." 

"  We  are  poor,"  said  Faustina,  with  a  touch  of  her 
old  pride  in  her  tones,  "  and  six  liras  in  the  week  do 
not  come  often  in  the  way  of  people  like  us;  but 
if  Raffaello  wants  to  go  and  sit  for  the  painter  he 
may ;  and  Mariotto  can  keep  his  liras,  but  he  must 
paint  me  Raffaello's  face,  and  give  it  to  me  for  my 
very  own  to  keep." 

Camillo  could  scarcely  repress  his  admiration  of 
Faustina  as  she  said  this.  He  looked  straight  at 
her,  and  she  looked  straight  at  him ;  and  he  saw 
something  in  her  eyes  that  made  him  take  her  hand 
and  exclaim  heartily, — 

"  Well  done !  Well  said  !  you  are  a  brave  woman, 
Faustina,  and  you  shall  have  your  reward.  I  promise 
you  the  picture  from  Mariotto.  And  now  that  my 
beast  has  had  time  to  rest  his  bones,  I  must  be  hurry- 
ing home  to  the  madre.  You  will  come  to  me  to- 
morrow morning,  Raffaello  mio  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  cried  Raffaello,  overjoyed  at  the  pros- 


130  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

pect  of  renewing  his  visits  to  the  city  and  to  the 
good  Camillo. 

"  And  now,  A  rivedello !  *  and  pleasant  dreams 
to  you  both ! "  and  the  good  cocchiere  waved  his 
hand  to  them,  and  bounced  out  as  cheerily  as  he  had 
bounced  in ;  while  Faustina  and  the  boy  stood  at 
the  door,  candle  in  hand,  to  light  him  on  his  way. 

1  Good-bye. 


11  CO,"  thought  Raffaello,  as  he  lay 
on    his    little    straw  bed   that 


night,  "the  dear,  good  Camillo  did 
not  forget  me  after  all ;  for  he  thought 
of  me  when  the  painter  wanted  some- 
body to  put  in  his  picture,  and  took 
the  trouble  to  come  all  the  way  from 
the  city  so  late  at  night  to  tell  us 
about  it  !  "  and  the  little  boy  felt 
comforted  and  hopeful  once  more.  For  the  mere 
sight  of  the  big  coachman,  with  his  broad  smiles 
and  genial  voice,  was  enough  to  drive  away  even 
sadder  thoughts  than  those  which  Raffaello  had 
entertained  earlier  in  the  evening. 

Indeed,  nothing  could  be  farther  from  Camillo's 
thoughts  than  forgetting  the  little  friend,  in  whom 
he  had  taken  such  lively  interest  and  around  whom 
he  had  already  woven  such  a  veil  of  pleasant 


132  A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

possibilities,  after  his  own  ingenious  fashion.  Ca- 
millo  had  declared  to  himself,  and  had  frequently 
offered  to  bet  several  artichokes  with  himself,  that 
this  pretty  bimbo  with  a  face  like  a  picture  was 
none  of  your  common  street-tribe,  and  that  there 
was  some  mystery  about  him,  which  Providence  had 
ordained  should  be  brought  to  light  wholly  through 
his  efforts.  All  that  Camillo  knew  at  first  was  that 
little  Raffaello  lived  off  in  the  country  with  a  woman 
named  Faustina,  who  was  not  in  any  way  related  to 
him.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  that;  and 
Camillo  would  never  have  given  the  matter  another 
thought,  if  Raffaello  had  not  been  such  a  handsome 
little  fellow,  in  spite  of  his  peasant  clothes,  and  if 
Camillo  had  not  remembered  something  that  had 
happened  in  Florence,  a  few  years  past.  The  more 
he  had  seen  of  the  child,  the  more  he  had  become 
convinced  that  there  was  something  to  be  found  out 
about  him.  For  that  very  reason,  he  was  cautious, 
and  had  not  questioned  Raffaello  too  closely,  but 
chosen,  rather,  to  learn  all  that  he  wished  to  know, 
through  some  ingenious  researches  of  his  own.  That 
was  what  he  meant  when  he  said  he  had  been  "  study- 
ing ancient  history." 

In  the  two  months  that  Raffaello  had  not  seen 
him,  Camillo's  love  of  investigation  had  been  plenti- 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  133 

fully  fed,  and  he  had  been  very  busy  indeed,  and 
the  chief  subject  of  his  business  was  little  Raffaello. 
The  very  next  day  after  the  boy's  visit  to  Camillo 
and  the  madre,  the  old  cocchiere  went  to  the  Piazza 
del  Annunziata.  It  happened  to  be  a  saint's  day, 
and  he  stationed  himself  very  near  the  portico  of 
the  church,  that  he  might  see  the  great  signori  when 
they  came  out.  He  had  been  there  but  a  few  min- 
utes when  a  magnificent  equipage  drove  up  to  the 
church  door,  so  close  to  Camillo's  humble  coach 
that  if  he  had  not  just  then  been  so  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  he  might  have  felt  sensitive  at  the 
contrast  between  his  bony  nag  and  his  own  shabby 
appearance,  and  the  spirited  horses  and  gay-liveried 
coachman  and  footman  that  sat  with  dignity  on  the 
box  of  the  splendid  carriage.  He  noticed  that  there 
was  a  crest  engraved  on  silver  fastenings  close  to  the 
horses'  ears,  and  that  there  was  something  of  the 
kind  on  the  doors  of  the  grand  equipage.  He 
immediately  wheeled  his  own  cab  around,  and  took 
a  slow  survey  of  the  carriage  on  all  sides,  and  then 
brought  his  horse  nose  to  nose  with  the  aristocratic 
thorough-breds.  The  crest  on  the  door  was  the 
same  that  Raffaello  had  described  to  him :  a  yellow 
crown,  and  under  it  a  large  and  fantastic  B. 

Camillo   could   scarcely   suppress   his    agitation. 


134  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

His  big  blue  eyes  were  almost  popping  out  of  his 
head ;  and  his  fat  fingers  clutched  at  his  reins  as 
fiercely  as  if  they  were  the  threads  that  would  un- 
ravel the  whole  mystery.  Several  people  straggled 
out  of  the  church  and  made  a  beckoning  motion  to 
Camillo,  signifying  that  they  would  like  the  services 
of  his  cab  and  horse;  but  he  sat  in  blissful  igno- 
rance of  them,  with  the  air  of  one  whose  time  is  too 
precious  to  be  spent  in  considering  common,  ordi- 
nary folk. 

Presently,  a  white-haired  old  man  and  a  tall  and 
beautiful  young  girl  emerged  from  the  church,  and 
stood  a  moment  on  the  portico.  Camillo  almost 
jumped  from  his  seat.  The  young  girl  wore  a  pure 
white  dress,  and  her  hair  fell  on  her  shoulders  in 
rich,  dark  waves ;  her  eyes  were  large  and  soft ;  her 
cheeks  were  delicately  pink ;  and  her  mouth  arched 
at  the  corners  into  an  angel's  smile! 

"  A  thousand  maledictions  on  you ! "  ejaculated 
the  excited  cocchiere,  addressing  himself  vehemently, 
"  if  you  have  n't  seen  those  eyes  before !  Camillo, 
you  are  not  such  a  pumpkin  as  you  look.  Where 
have  you  seen  them  ?  Never  mind  where.  A 
cocchiere  with  a  madre  and  a  parrot  to  feed  does 
not  spend  his  mornings  hanging  around  in  front  of 
church  doors  to  see  the  angel  signorine  come  out 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  135 

when  there 's  nothing  more  to  be  got  by  it  than  a 
frost-bitten  nose !  No,  no,  Camillo,  you  would 
never  have  come  here  this  morning,  if  you  had  not 
had  your  suspicions,  and,  as  usual,  your  suspicions 
are  correct.  And  what  of  that !  it 's  a  bad  day  for 
foxes  when  Camillo  is  mistaken.  You  're  as  sharp 
as  any  of  them,  even  if  you  are  a  beggar  of  a 
cocchiere  with  a  face  like  a  cooked  lobster.  Santa 
Catrina!  Look  at  those  curls!  where  have  you 
seen  them  before  ?  Where,  eh  ?  Ecco,  may  the 
•saints  leave  me  in  Purgatory,  if  I  don't  find  out 
something  more  from  Mariotto !  " 

With  that  Camillo  cracked  his  whip,  and  crossed 
the  piazza  just  as  the  great  carriage,  with  the  old 
man  and  the  lady,  was  turning  into  the  Via  della 
Colonna ;  and  he  drove  off  at  a  mad  pace,  with  never 
so  much  as  a  customer  in  his  cab,  which  he  might 
easily  have  had,  if  he  had  been  attending  strictly  to 
business,  for  it  was  a  cold,  rainy  day. 

Mariotto  was  the  painter  who  lived  on  the  floor 
directly  below  Camillo  and  the  madre,  in  the  old 
house  behind  the  Church  of  the  Badia.  He  was  a 
young  artist  and  a  poor  one,  though  his  pictures 
were  very  beautiful ;  but  he  had  not  yet  a  name, 
alas !  and  few  people  bought  any  of  them.  Never- 
theless he  painted  day  after  day,  week  after  week, 


136  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

and  month  after  month,  and  sometimes  he  would 
give  away  his  pictures  for  the  sake  of  getting  people 
to  notice  them,  in  the  hope  of  being  recognized 
some  day  as  a  great  artist.  From  him  Camillo 
learned  a  great  deal  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
city,  and  would  often  get  bits  of  news  about  some 
of  the  great  people.  It  was  his  habit  to  drop  in  at 
the  artist's  studio  of  an  evening  when  business  was 
dull,  and  crack  a  few  Florentine  jokes. 

It  happened  to  be  on  this  very  day,  when  Camillo 
had  seen  the  signorina  coming  out  of  the  Church 
of  the  Annunziata,  that  Mariotto,  the  painter,  had 
received  his  order  for  the  picture  of  an  angel  lead- 
ing a  little  child.  Mariotto  was  the  happiest  man 
in  Florence  that  night.  As  he  sat  at  his  easel, 
sketching  a  variety  of  compositions  for  his  great 
picture,  and  confiding  his  good  fortune  to  Camillo, 
he  was  also  making  sketches  in  his  own  mind  of 
the  fame  that  would  come  to  him  if  he  succeeded 
in  making  it  perfect.  For  the  old  signor  who  had 
given  him  the  order  was  rich  and  powerful,  and  had 
promised  Mariotto  anything  he  wished  if  he  painted 
the  picture  to  please  him. 

Camillo  took  an  unusual  interest  in  the  work,  and 
watched  it  as  it  grew  from  day  to  day  under  the 
magic  brush  of  the  young  artist.  Often  when  he 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  137 

had  a  minute  to  spare  during  the  day,  he  would 
step  into  the  little  studio,  and  chat  with  Mariotto 
about  the  picture,  asking  all  manner  of  questions 
concerning  it  and  the  people  who  would  own  it; 
and  Mariotto  told  him  all  he  knew.  Camillo  gave 
his  opinion  of  the  work  in  his  jovial  way,  and 
cheered  the  young  painter  when  he  grew  dis- 
couraged and  despondent,  as  even  great  geniuses 
are  apt  to  feel  sometimes,  about  their  most  glorious 
work. 

At  last  the  angel  was  finished,  and  Camillo  pro- 
nounced it  "  most  beautiful !  "  and  it  was  perfect. 
For  Mariotto  had  painted  it  from  the  fair  ideal  of 
his  own  imagination ;  but  he  was  in  despair  about 
the  child.  The  child  must  be  a  human,  living 
creature  that  one  must  love  from  its  very  sem- 
blance to  other  human  children,  and  yet  be  lovelier 
than  them  all.  For  that  he  must  have  a  living, 
human  model,  only  adding  to  it  the  divine  spark 
of  his  genius  that  would  make  his  work  a  master- 
piece. 

For  days  Mariotto  hunted  the  streets  of  Florence, 
hovels  and  public  places  alike,  in  search  of  a  face 
to  put  into  his  picture ;  and  when  he  thought  to 
have  found  one,  and  had  sketched  it  in  beside  that 
of  the  angel,  his  soul  grew  sick  and  he  would  efface 


138  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

it  from  his  canvas,  and  then  sit  with  his  head  in 
his  hands  for  hours  before  it  in  mute  despair.  It 
was  in  such  a  mood  that  Camillo  found  him,  one 
night,  stopping  on  his  way  to  his  garret;  and  learn- 
ing the  cause  of  his  distress,  promised  then  and 
there  to  bring  him  a  little  boy  who  had  a  face  that 
would  go  into  any  picture  and  glorify  it.  And  that 
was  the  night  on  which  Camillo  had  ridden  so  late 
to  the  little  hut  beyond  the  village  of  Galluzzo,  and 
surprised  Raffaello  and  Faustina  out  of  their  sad 
meditations. 


T3AFFAELLO  had  no 
-*-v  notion  of  what  Camillo 
meant  by  saying  that  the 
painter  would  make  his  for- 
tune. The  prospect  of  earning  a  bright  silver  lira 
to  bring  home  to  Faustina  every  day,  and  better  than 
that,  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  good  friend  Camillo 
whenever  he  went  to  sit  for  the  painter,  who  lived 
in  the  same  house  with  Camillo  and  the  madre,  was 
in  itself  a  sufficient  fortune  for  a  little  boy  who 
wanted  to  be  loved  more  than  he  wanted  anything 
else  in  the  world.  On  the  morning  after  Camillo's 
visit,  he  was  awakened  very  early  by  the  crowing  of 
a  neighboring  cock,  and  long  before  the  cold  gray 
morning  had  begun  to  break.  It  did  not  frighten 
him,  as  it  once  had  done,  to  think  of  walking  the 
lone  distance  to  Florence  alone;  for  now  he  was 

o 

a  little  older  and  much  wiser,  to  his  own  thinking ; 


140  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

and  he  knew  the  road-way  so  well,  and  felt  such  a 
nameless  joy  at  the  thought  of  being  again  in  the 
old  gray  city  where  the  gentle  signorina  lived,  that 
he  never  minded  the  absence  of  the  market-cart 
and  Pierrota,  for  his  own  legs  were  young  and 
strong,  and  served  him  better  than  the  donkey's 
would  have  done.  For,  as  the  cold  weather  set  in, 
Pierrota  had  grown  worse  and  worse,  and  so  far 
lost  control  of  her  donkey-temper  as  to  kick  vio- 
lently at  any  one  who  came  in  her  way.  It  was 
therefore  considered  wise  by  the  members  of 
Luigi's  family  not  to  press  her  into  service  ;  she 
was  declared  out  of  health,  and  total  rest  and  free- 
dom for  a  time  were  prescribed  for  her,  which  left 
Pierrota  to  wander  about  the  village  at  her  own 
sweet  will  and  fancy.  But  those  of  the  neighbors 
who  had  felt  the  force  of  her  iron  hoofs,  declared 
that  she  was  a  lazy  beast,  and  good  for  ten  years 
more  of  work,  but  had  just  got  Satan  into  her  legs. 

However  that  might  be,  Raffaello  had  no  need 
of  her  services  that  morning.  He  gained  the  Porta 
Romana  in  good  season,  with  the  help  of  a  good- 
natured  peasant  who  picked  him  up  for  the  space 
of  half  a  mile  or  so  on  the  way. 

Florence  was  just  the  same  as  when  he  had  seen 
it  last,  only  that  it  was  colder  and  grayer,  and  that 


A  CHILD    OF   TUSCANY. 


141 


the  wind  blew  fiercely  from  over  the  ice-mountains, 
and  that  the  people  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  hug- 
ging themselves  together  and  covering  their  ears 
and  noses  with  their  hands.  Raffaello  made  his 
way  across  the  Arno  and  walked  briskly  to  the 


house  where  Camillo  lived.  The  coachman  was 
already  waiting  for  him,  and  led  him  straight  to 
Mariotto's  working-room,  where  he  pounded  heavily 
on  the  door  and  entered  immediately  after,  without 
waiting  for  his  invitation. 

"  There   he  is ! "   exclaimed  the   cocchiere.  as   he 


142  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

gently  pushed  Raffaello  into  the  room,  and  unfas- 
tened his  scarf  and  cap.  "  This  is  the  bimbo  /  Now, 
take  your  spy-glass,  my  friend  Mariotto,  and  search 
the  fields  of  Tuscany  for  a  prettier  one,  and  may 
you  turn  into  a  leek  if  you  find  him !  "  and  he 
raised  Raffaello's  chin,  gazing  at  him  admiringly, 
and  blinked  and  nodded  with  an  air  of  immense 
satisfaction  at  the  painter. 

As  the  little  boy  stood  there  before  them,  his 
dark  curls  clustering  about  his  neck,  his  eyes 
widened  with  wonder  and  excitement,  and  the  color 
in  his  cheeks  deepened  with  the  crisp  morning  air 
that  had  whipped  up  his  young  blood,  he  looked, 
in  truth,  like  a  sweet  picture  of  innocence  and 
youth.  Mariotto  drew  back  in  astonishment,  and 
murmured  under  his  breath, — 

"  O  del!  that  is  the  face  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  it 's  all  very  well  to  clasp  your  hands 
and  cry,  'Oriel!''*  put  in  the  delighted  cocchiere. 
"  It 's  just  like  you  artists  to  sit  and  dream  of  a  face 
you  would  like  to  paint,  and  expect  the  Angel 
Gabriel  to  drop  one  down  from  Paradise,  and  then 
cry,  '  O  del!  —  Altro  !  but  it  takes  an  old  beggar 
of  a  cocchiere  like  me  to  find  you  the  very  thing 
you  've  been  sighing  for  these  three  months  ;  and  I 
don't  look  much  like  the  Angel  Gabriel,  either,  do 
I,  Raffaellino?" 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  143 

Raffaello  was  not  sufficiently  well  acquainted 
with  that  celestial  personage  to  draw  any  compar- 
isons, but  he  slipped  his  hancl  into  the  coachman's, 
and  said  innocently, — 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  just  as  good  as  the  Angel 
Gabriel,  Camillo,  and  I  like  you  much  better." 

At  which  the  cocchiere  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh 
that  seemed  to  leave  an  echo  of  his  genial  presence 
in  the  room  long  after  he  was  gone. 

Mariotto  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  work  after 
Camillo  had  left  them,  and  he  and  his  little  model 
got  on  famously  together,  and  were  soon  on  very 
friendly  terms.  Raffaello  found  many  things  to 
interest  him  in  the  studio :  there  were  many  can- 
vases, in  various  stages  of  completion,  standing 
about  on  the  floor,  propped  up  against  the  wall; 
and  numberless  sketches  in  pencil  covering  the  sides 
of  the  room ;  there  were  several  plaster  and  clay 
heads  of  grim  old  Romans  with  very  dusty  noses, 
looking  down  at  him  from  high  shelves ;  and  odd 
bits  of  pottery,  and  old  bronzes ;  and  here  and  there 
some  graceful  flowers  lifting  their  fresh  heads  out 
of  dilapidated  vases,  —  all  of  which  showed  that  al- 
though Mariotto  himself  was  poor,  his  mind  was  rich 
enough  to  see  beauty  in  plain  and  humble  things. 

But  the  best  of  all  was  the  large  easel  with  the 


144  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

unfinished  painting,  in  which  Raffaello  was  to  be 
put.  It  was  a  lovely  angel  robed  in  blue  and  gold, 
stretching  out  one  hand  to  lead  the  little  child,  and 
with  the  other  pointing  upwards.  There  was  such 
a  wealth  of  soft,  rich  color  in  the  painting,  and  such 
a  look  of  heavenly  sweetness  in  the  angel's  eyes, 
that  Raffaello,  who,  like  all  the  children  of  Italy, 
loved  everything  that  was  beautiful,  became  at  once 
all  absorbed  in  the  subject,  and  could  not  refrain 
from  questioning  Mariotto  about  it. 

"  What  is  the  angel  doing  with  the  child  ?  "  in- 
quired Raffaello,  as  the  painter  began  to  mix  some 
colors  on  his  palette. 

"  Why,  the  angel  is  taking  care  of  the  bimbo,  the 
way  all  good  angels  do ;  as  I  am  going  to  take  care 
of  you  when  I  have  made  my  fortune  with  painting 
your  picture,"  replied  Mariotto,  who  was  in  his  hap- 
piest and  most  hopeful  mood. 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  take  care  of  me  ?  Do 
you  mean  that  you  will  take  me  away  from  Faus- 
tina, to  live  with  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  Mariotto, "  not  unless  you  want 
to  be  taken  from  Faustina.  Who  is  Faustina  ? " 

"She  is  my  —  my — I  don't  know  what  Faustina 
is,"  stammered  Raffaello;  "she  has  had  me  ever 
since  I  was  a  baby." 


"  She  is  my —  my  —     I  don't  know  what  Faustina  is." 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  147 

"  Not  your  mother  ?  " 

**  No,"  answered  Raffaello. 

"  Nor  grandmother  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Nor  aunt,  nor  cousin  ?  "  urged  Mariotto. 

"  I  think  not.  She  told  me  that  she  had  found 
me,  and  that  I  did  n't  really  belong  to  her." 

Mariotto  stopped  painting,  and  eyed  the  little 
fellow  curiously. 

"  And  does  Camillo  know  that  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,  Faustina  only  told  me  last  night,  and  I  did 
not  see  Camillo  long  enough  this  morning  to  tell 
him  about  it." 

The  painter  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  and  con- 
tinued to  mix  colors  without  saying  anything  for 
some  time. 

"And  that  child  that  you  are  putting  in  the 
picture,  do  you  think  that  he  was  lost  too  ? "  asked 
Raffaello,  returning  to  his  own  thoughts,  "  and  that 
the  angel  is  going  to  take  care  of  him  always  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  the  artist,  "  that  is  probably 
it.  Somebody  always  takes  care  of  little  children 
who  get  lost." 

"  And  do  their  parents  ever  find  them  again  ?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  I  wish  that  some  lovely  lady  like  the  beautiful 


148  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

signorina  had  found  me  instead  of  Faustina;  not 
that  I  don't  like  Faustina,  for  she  is  very  good  to 
me.  But  she  does  n't  care  very  much  for  anybody, 
and  sometimes  she  is  cross  with  the  cat." 

"  Well,  perhaps  a  beautiful  signorina  will  come 
and  take  care  of  you,  and  love  you  very  much, 
some  day,"  said  Mariotto, encouragingly,  "that  is, of 
course,  if  you  are  a  very  good  bimbo,  and  hold  your 
head  very  still,  while  I  put  in  your  eyebrows;  for 
you  don't  want  your  eyebrows  to  go  all  awry  in 
the  picture,  like  this  —  "and  he  made  a  dreadful 
grimace,  like  Mephistopheles,  which  caused  a  mutual 
laugh. 

Raffaello  could  not  help  thinking  what  very 
pleasant  people  lived  in  the  old  house  behind  the 
Badia.  It  was  a  gray,  dingy,  dirty,  tumble-down 
old  house  to  be  sure,  with  narrow  courts  and 
crooked  steps  and  broken  shutters;  but  that  was 
nothing.  Mariotto  and  Camillo  and  the  madre,  and 
even  the  parrot,  were  all  jovial,  good-natured,  and 
happy,  as  if  they  lived  in  a  grand  palace ;  and  they 
were  all  kind  to  him. 

The  painter  was  not  at  all  like  Camillo.  He  was 
younger,  and  not  so  big  or  so  broad,  and  his  face 
was  not  so  red,  and  his  laugh  not  so  loud ;  but  he 
was  a  pleasant  friend,  like  the  coachman,  called  him 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  149 

mignone,  and  seemed  to  be  fond  of  him  at  once. 
And  he  entertained  him  so  well  while  he  worked, 
that  Raffaello  did  not  get  so  very  tired,  sitting  still 
and  looking  one  way.  He  began  to  hope  he  would 
have  to  come  often  to  sit  for  Mariotto,  and  was 
moved  to  ask,  — 

"  How  long  will  it  be  before  the  picture  is 
finished  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  I  cannot  tell.  '  Chi  va  piano,  va  sanno.'1 
It  may  be  a  long  time.  You  are  not  weary  already  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  hope  it  will  be  a  long  time,  for  I 
want  to  come  often  and  talk  with  you." 

"  That 's  my  fine  bimbo !  "  exclaimed  the  artist, 
well  pleased;  and  he  stuck  his  brushes  over  his  ear, 
and  stood  aloof  a  few  steps,  viewing  his  rough 
sketch  critically. 

"  Perhaps  this  will  be  enough  for  to-day ;  we  must 
not  get  weary  of  each  other  too  soon,  for  there  is 
the  picture  for  Faustina  to  do  when  this  is  finished." 

"Yes,"  said  Raffaello,  "  she  wants  it  very  much. 
She  would  rather  have  it  than  the  silver  liras" 

"She  shall  have  the  liras  and  the  picture  too. 
But  you  will  come  to  me  to-morrow,  and  then  again 
the  next  day ;  and  after  it  will  be  Sunday,  and  we 
shall  rest  on  that  day,  and  ask  the  good  Lord  to 

1  "  He  who  goes  slowly  goes  well." 


150  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

help  us  to  do  our  work  well,"  said  Mariotto,  who  had 

a  pious  soul,  and  whose  art  was  his  creed  and  his 

religion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Raffaello,  "  I  will  remember." 

"  And  now,  a  pleasant  walk  to  you,  my  bimbo" 

said  Mariotto,  patting  him  on  the  cheek,  "  and  a 

good  fortune  to  you ! " 

And  as  the  little  boy  left  the  artist's  room,  he  felt 

as  if  Fortune  had  indeed  taken  him  by  the  hand, 

and  was   leading   him  gently  onward,   and    would 

never  turn  her  back  on  him  any  more. 


T  was  several  weeks  after  Raffaello's 
first  visit  to  Mariotto's  work-room, 
when  one  morning  he  entered  at  the 
usual  hour,  and  found  the  little  studio 
empty.  He  had  noticed,  as  he  made  his 
way  through  the  narrow  streets,  that  the  whole  city 
seemed  to  be  in  a  commotion  and  excitement ;  that 
most  of  the  shops  were  closed ;  and  that  flags  bear- 
ing the  Italian  colors  were  set  in  the  windows;  and 
that  the  people  were  moving  in  great  crowds  in  the 
direction  of  the  river-bank,  the  great  Lung  Arno, 
which  is  the  avenue  of  the  rich  and  noble. 

Raffaello  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  painter's  return, 
wondering  what  festa  day  it  might  be,  and  where 
Mariotto  had  gone ;  for  it  was  already  late,  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  his  having  been  at  work  that 

o  o 

morning.     The  paints  and  brushes  were  put  away, 


152  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

and  the  tall  easel  was  in  its  corner,  and  the  picture 
on  it  was  covered  with  a  cloth,  just  as  he  had  left  it 
on  the  Saturday  evening  before,  for  it  was  then 
Monday.  There  were  only  the  remains  of  Mariotto's 
breakfast  left  scattered  on  a  little  table  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room ;  and  everything  showed  that  work 
had  been  given  up  for  that  day,  evidently  on  account 
of  some  great  festivity.  For  the  Florentine  man  or 
woman  is  like  a  child,  when  it  comes  to  gay  sights 
and  glorious  processions;  and  Mariotto  was  young, 
and,  next  to  his  art,  loved  best  to  mingle  in  the 
gayeties  of  his  simple,  light-hearted,  sportive  people. 
Little  Raffaello  was  just  wondering  whether  he 
should  go  or  stay,  for  the  painter  did  not  make  his 
appearance,  when  he  heard  the  jovial  too-loo-rool 
and  the  heavy  tread  of  the  cocchiere  on  the  stairs. 

"  Ah,  you  are  already  here,  pretty  pigeon,"  cried 
Camillo,  opening  the  door.  "  How  long  have  you 
been  waiting?" 

"  Oh,  a  long  time,"  replied  Raffaello.  "  Mariotto 
was  gone  when  I  came  in.  Do  you  know  where  he 
is?" 

"Where?"  shouted  Camillo.  "  Ecco,  little  man, 
don't  you  know?  don't  you  know  where  everybody 
is  going  to-day;  where  I  am  going,  and  you  too,  if 
you  will  come  ?  " 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  153 

"  No,"  answered  Raffaello,  in  surprise. 

"  Ha,  ha,  I  forgot  that  your  country-folk  at  Gal- 
luzzo  never  know  what  is  going  on  in  the  city ; 
some  of  them  don't  even  know  which  way  the  Arno 
flows,  Santa  Catrina !  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  bimbo 
mio,  we  are  all  going  to  see  the  "grand  procession." 

•"  And  will  Mariotto  not  come  back  to  paint  to- 
day ? "  asked  the  little  boy,  a  trifle  disappointed. 

"  Cke,  che  !  it  is  a  holiday  ;  a  great  festa,  Raffael- 
lino,  and  people  cannot  shut  themselves  up  in  a 
garret  to  paint,  when  our  beautiful  young  queen 
comes  all  the  way  from  Rome  to  show  herself  to  us, 
and  to  wish  us  a  Good-day  !  " 

"  The  queen  ! "  cried  Raffaello. 

"  The  king  and  the  queen  and  the  little  Prince 
of  Napoli,1  who  is  no  bigger  than  you,  and  — "  he 
added  in  a  lower  voice,  turning  his  head  around 
and  addressing  the  two  brass  buttons  on  the  tail 
of  his  coat  —  "  not  half  so  pretty  !  And  all  the  nobil- 
ity will  be  there,  in  their  fine  carriages,  and  every 
Florentine  that  has  got  a  sensible  eye  or  two  in  his 
head,  will  come  out  to  see  the  lovely  Margherita." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Raffaello,  clapping  his  hands 
in  delight,  "  and  you  will  take  me  to  the  procession, 
Camillo  ?  " 

1  Prince  of  Naples,  the  heir  to  the  Italian  crown. 


154  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  That  is  what  I  came  here  to  do,  for  Mariotto  has 
lost  his  head  to-day,  and  will  not  be  dragged  from 
his  place  on  the  Ponte  Alia  Carraja  until  dark. 
He  adores  the  beautiful  queen  as  if  she  were  the 
Holy  Mother  herself!" 

"  And  he  will  not  want  me  at  all  to-day  ?  " 

"  He  has  said  so ;  and  left  me  to  bring  you  when 
I  came,  while  he  went  on  ahead  to  choose  the  best 
place  in  the  crowd,  and  save  one  for  us  near  him." 

Raffaello  thought  no  more  of  his  disappointment 
in  the  exciting  prospect  of  witnessing  a  fine  pro- 
cession of  great  people,  a  thing  he  had  never  seen. 
So  he  gave  his  hand  to  Camillo,  and  they  went 
down-stairs  together,  and  climbing  on  the  box  of 
the  coach,  made  their  way  as  speedily  as  possible 
through  the  curious  multitude,  all  flocking  the  same 
way. 

The  whole  length  of  the  Lung  Arno  was 
thronged  with  people  stationed  on  both  sides  of 
the  street,  for  that  was  the  promenade  chosen  by 
the  king  and  queen  on  leaving  the  Pitti  Palace.  It 
was  a  splendid  sight,  this  long  smooth  avenue 
following  the  graceful  curve  of  the  river,  and  en- 
livened with  the  gay  crowd ;  the  gray  palaces  with 
their  irregular  roofs  rising  picturesquely  out  against 
the  warm-tinted  sky,  their  balconies  and  windows 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  155 

and  loggias^-  filled  with  brilliantly  dressed  ladies, 
and  their  reflection  in  the  limpid  Arno  opposite 
smiling  back  at  them  ;  gay-colored  flags  flying  at 
every  peak  and  gable,  in  sign  of  welcome  to  the 
young  sovereigns.  It  was  a  joyous  day  for  the 
Florentines,  for  there  is  nothing  they  like  so  well 
as  the  sight  of  pageantry  and  pomp.  As  Camillo 
had  said,  not  a  soul  in  Florence  would  have  thought 
of  missing  it,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
city  were  come  out  to  see  the  royal  procession,  and 
pay  tribute. 

Camillo  left  his  cab  and  horse  around  the  corner 
in  the  Borgo,  and  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  with  Raffaello.  Their  friend,  the  artist,  was 
already  perched  on  one  of  the  stone  arms  of  the 
bridge  of  Carraja,  and  beckoned  to  them  to  come 
near.  He  had  been  waiting  there  three  hours  or 
more  to  hold  this  splendid  point  of  view,  as  indeed, 
many  other  spectators  had  thought  it  little  trouble 
to  do,  for  a  glance  and  a  smile  from  the  lovely 
queen. 

Raffaello  learned,  from  hearing  Camillo  and 
the  painter  talking  together,  that  the  king  and 
queen  were  on  their  way  to  Venice,  there  to  meet 
some  great  foreign  emperor;  and  that  they  would 

1  Covered  gardens  on  the  roofs  of  houses. 


156  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

remain  in  Florence  but  one  day.  Great  festivities 
had  been  prepared  for  them,  in  consequence,  by 
the  Florentine  nobility,  and  every  one  who  wore  a 
title  or  had  a  coronet  on  his  crest,  would  surely  be 
following  in  the  royal  retinue  that  afternoon.  It 
seemed  a  long  time  waiting  to  little  Raffaello,  who 
was  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd  of  tall  men  and 
women,  and  who  was  so  small  that  the  only  view 
that  was  anywhere  on  his  level  was  a  motley  array 
of  boots  and  legs  and  arms,  gesticulating  enthusi- 
astically, as  their  owners  whiled  away  the  time  with 
neighborly  conversation.  But  he  tried  to  be  very 
patient,  and  only  questioned  Camillo  now  and  then 
about  the  little  prince,  wondering  whether  he  would 
get  a  glimpse  of  him  from  his  lowly,  hidden  place 
in  the  big  crowd- 

Camillo,  however,  was  taking  care  of  that.  When, 
at  last,  the  royal  carriages  were  seen  in  the  far 
distance,  turning  out  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and 
moving  slowly  between  the  masses  of  people,  and 
the  joyous  cry  of  "  Viva  la  Savoia  !  " *  went  up  with 
a  shout  and  was  caught  up  and  repeated  and  echoed 
the  whole  length  of  the  brilliant  avenue,  Camillo 
suddenly  caught  Raffaello  up  in  his  arms  and  raised 

1  "  Long  live  Savoy  !  "     The  house  of  Savoy,  of  which  the  present 
king  is  a  member. 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  157 

him  on  his  shoulder,  from  which  exalted  position 
—  for  Camillo  was  so  very  tall  —  the  little  boy  could 
see  over  the  tops  of  thousands  of  heads  the  ap- 
proach of  the  regal  equipages. 

"  Oh,  look,  look,  Camillo ! "  cried  he,  in  great 
excitement,  "  do  you  see  some  people  sitting  very 
high  in  a  carriage,  dressed  all  in  red,  and  with 
something  bright  shining  at  their  belts !  Do  you 
think  they  are  the  king  and  the  queen  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  Ha  !  You  little  country  pigeon!  "  laughed 
Camillo.  "  Do  I  think  they  are  the  king  and  the 
queen  !  Bless  my  buttons  !  I  should  say  not !  They 
are  only  the  coachman  and  lackeys  !  For  all  their 
fine  red  jackets  and  curly  powdered-wigs,  they  are 
no  better  cocchieri  than  your  old  Camillo.  I  could 
sit  up  just  as  straight,  and  hold  my  head  just  as 
stiff,  and  draw  the  reins  on  my  handsome  steeds 
just  as  tight,  if  I  were  in  their  shoes.  It  is  only  the 
difference  of  being  coachman  to  the  king  and  queen, 
and  coachman  to  the  people,  that 's  all ;  "  for  Camillo, 
who  had  a  horror  of  being  outdone  by  anybody, 
could  not  refrain  from  passing  a  little  professional 
criticism  on  those  whom  Fortune  had  placed  a  few 
degrees  higher  up  the  scale  than  himself.  "  But 
never  fear ;  every  onion  has  its  own  time  for  sprout- 
ing, and  mine  may  not  be  far  off." 


158  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  to  see  you  driving  a  splendid 
coach  like  that,  Camillo.  I  am  sure  you  would  look 
much  finer  than  anybody,"  said  Raffaello,  admir- 
ingly, for  he  truly  believed  that  his  friend,  the 
coachman,  was  capable  of  filling  any  post  of  honor 
that  might  be  assigned  to  him.  At  this  genuine 
echo  of  his  own  sentiments,  Camillo  patted  the  two 
small  legs  that  hung  about  his  neck,  as  a  mark  of 
his  approval. 

"  Now,  you  will  see  the  queen  and  the  little  prince 
sitting  in  their  carriage,  as  soon  as  they  get  a  little 
nearer.  There !  you  can  see  the  king  now,  stand- 
ing up  with  hat  in  hand  and  bowing  to  the  people. 
Look, look!  there  beside  him  is  the  lovely  Marghe- 
rita,  smiling  like  an  angel.  Long  live  the  queen ! 
and  the  little  prince,  too,  is  looking  straight  at  you 
and  nodding.  Wave  your  hat,  Raffaello,  and  cheer!  " 
and  the  enthusiastic  Camillo  threw  up  his  own  cap 
above  the  crowd,  and  joined  in  the  loud  acclamation 
of  "  Long  live  the  king !  Long  live  the  queen ! 
Long  live  Savoy ! "  while  the  gracious  young  mon- 
archs  bowed  and  smiled  on  every  side,  acknowledg- 
ing the  homage  of  their  subjects. 

It  was  a  glorious  sight,  and  one  that  thrilled 
every  heart  present  with  love  of  country  and  loyalty 
to  his  king.  The  people  shouted  and  cheered  and 


"  There !   you  can  see  the  king  now,  with  hat  in  hand." 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  l6l 

waved  flags  and  handkerchiefs,  and  some  few  wept 
for  joy.  It  was  a  scene  of  fairy-land  which  many 
carried  home  with  them,  and  dreamed  of  and  remem- 
bered for  many  days  after. 

Following  the  royal  coach,  came  a  long  line  of 
other  carnages  of  state,  belonging  to  the  dukes  and 
princes  of  Florence,  and  to  all  the  high  families, 
ceremoniously  arrayed  to  befit  the  great  occasion. 
But  the  eyes  of  the  crowd  were  following  the  red 
figures  of  the  royal  footmen  as  they  towered  high 
at  the  head  of  the  procession,  and  finally  disappeared 
beyond  the  tall  gates  of  the  Cascine.1 

Suddenly  little  Raffaello,  who  had  been  watching 
with  the  rest,  gave  a  quick  start,  and  clutched  very 
tightly  at  the  patient  Camillo's  ears. 

"  See !  "  he  cried  under  his  breath,  as  he  brought 
his  little  face  close  to  the  big  one,  "  there  she  is ! " 

"  Who  ?  Where  ?  "  asked  Camillo,  showing  no 
emotion. 

"  The  beautiful  signorina,  my  signorina! "  whis- 
pered the  little  boy,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

Camillo  turned  and  beheld,  among  the  last  of  the 
carriages  in  line,  the  one  he  had  seen  that  morning, 
several  months  ago,  in  front  of  the  Church  of  the 

1  A  large  park, 
ii 


162  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

Annunziata,  with  the  bright  silver  trappings,  and 
the  yellow  coronet  and  monogram  on  the  door. 

"  Surely !  it  is  the  Signorina  Francesca ! "  ex- 
claimed Mariotto,  who  was  standing  close  to  them. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  asked  Raffaello,  eagerly. 

"  Ecco  /  who  does  not  know  the  pretty  creature  ? 
You  see  the  people  are  looking  at  her  now,  as  if  she 
were  a  queen  too.  She  is  a  queen  among  some  of 
them ;  she  is  so  kind  to  the  poor,  she  helps  them, 
and  goes  about  to  take  care  of  them  when  they  are 
sick.  That  is  her  old  grandfather  sitting  next  to 
her.  Poor  old  man !  It  is  the  first  time  he  has 
ridden  out  in  public  for  six  years ! " 

Mariotto  went  on  talking  with  Camillo  and  one 
or  two  bystanders,  about  the  Signorina  Francesca; 
but  Raffaello  heard  no  more  of  what  was  said.  He 
was  intently  watching  the  beautiful  face  that  was 
turned  smiling  to  those  who  knew  her.  Her  soft, 
large  eyes  had  a  look  of  sadness  in  them.  She 
glanced  down  at  the  crowds  as  if  in  search  of  some 
one;  she  did  not  look  up  so  high  as  Camillo's 
shoulder,  —  she  was  looking  at  some  young  children 
that  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  street.  Once  or 
twice  Raffaello's  little  heart  fluttered  with  the  hope 
that  her  eyes  would  meet  his,  if  only  for  a  second ; 
but  they  did  not,  and  she  was  soon  past.  He  felt  a 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  163 

pang  of  disappointment,  as  if  all  the  splendor  of  the 
great  procession  and  the  smile  of  the  beautiful 
queen  had  suddenly  been  wiped  out  of  his  memory 
by  the  sudden  apparition  of  this  fairer  vision  which 
had  so  long  been  in  his  thoughts. 

He  looked  a  long  time  in  silence  after  the  vanish- 
ing figures  of  the  old  man  and  the  young  girl,  not 
knowing  why  this  sudden  loneliness  had  come  over 
him  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  why  he  felt  like  laying 
his  head  on  Camillo's  neck  and  crying  his  heart 
out. 

Camillo  and  the  painter  had  stopped  talking,  and 
were  standing  waiting  for  the  crowd  to  move,  when 
some  one  laid  a  hand  on  the  coachman's  arm,  and 
said  in  a  hoarse  whisper, — 

"  You  have  got  him  here  in  this  crowd,  perched 
upon  your  shoulder,  for  every  soul  in  the  city  to 
gaze  at !  O  Saints  !  Why  did  I  ever  let  him  come !  " 
and  looking  down,  Raffaello  saw  Faustina,  with  a 
frightened  face,  clutching  at  Camillo's  arm. 

"Ho,  ho,  Monna  Faustina!  you  are  too  late  for 
the  procession,"  said  the  cocchiere,  not  one  whit 
disturbed  by  the  woman's  agitation,  as  he  landed 
Raffaello  once  more  on  his  feet.  "  You  should  have 
made  an  earlier  start,  and  come  yourself  with  the 
bimbo  f  " 


1 64  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  your  processions ! "  she 
retorted  angrily.  "  Will  they  give  me  back  what  I 
have  lost  ?  I  did  not  come  to  see  your  silly  parade, 
and  your  smirking  hateful  nobility,  who  are  here 
to  flaunt  their  riches  and  blessings  in  the  face  of 
poor  wretches!  I  came  to  find  my  boy,  when  I 
heard  that  there  was  festa,  and  that  you  would  all 
be  flocking  here,  mad  fools!  to  grin  like  apes  at 
those  who  spit  upon  you ! " 

"  Stop  that  bleating ! "  cried  a  bystander,  who 
had  caught  the  tone  of  Faustina's  words  and 
thought  he  scented  a  quarrel  in  the  air. 

"  Brimstone  !  "  shouted  one  or  two  others,  gayly, 
relishing  the  prospect,  "  Look  out  for  the  explo- 
sion ! " 

But  Camillo,  who  wished  particularly  to  avoid 
any  scene  just  then,  patted  Faustina  soothingly  on 
the  back,  and  said  good-humoredly, — 

"  There,  there,  dame  Faustina,  your  bimbo  is  safe, 
and  no  one  has  been  harmed ;  where  is  the  use  of 
making  yourself  any  bad  blood  over  it ! " 

Faustina  made  no  reply,  but  gave  her  hand  to 
Raffaello,  saying  nervously, — 

"  Come,  let  us  hasten  back  to  the  village ;  it  is 
growing  late ! "  and  she  hurried  away  out  of  the 
crowd,  like  one  afraid  of  being  seen,  never  slacken- 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  165 

ing  her  step  or  uttering  another  word  until  they 
were  far  out  upon  the  country  road,  and  the  lights 
on  the  Arno  were  beginning  to  twinkle  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  sun  was  sunk  deep  below  the  purple 
mists  of  Carrara. 


A  MONTH  later,  it  was  nearing  the  end 
of  March,  and  the  hills  round  about 
Galluzzo  were  already  brilliant  with  the 
hues  of  returning  spring.  Faustina  sat 
beside  her  hearth,  preparing  the  evening 
meal,  and  Minnetto  lay  eying  her  with 
lazy  interest,  while  Raffaello  was  gone  to  fetch  a  jug 
of  fresh  water  from  the  spring  near  by.  The  door 
of  the  hut  stood  open,  and  Faustina  was  looking  out 
upon  the  pretty  landscape  which  stretched  itself 
before  her,  with  a  sense  of  deep  relief  and  a  quiet- 
ness of  spirit  which  she  had  not  known  for  many 
weeks. 

Raffaello  had  stopped  going  to  the  city  every  day 
to  sit  for  Mariotto,  the  painter,  for  now  the  picture 
was  finished,  and  had  been  sent  to  its  owner,  and 
nothing  had  come  of  it.  Raffaello  was  still  with 
her;  and  the  picture  which  Mariotto  had  painted 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  167 

for  her  hung  there  on  the  wall,  and  the  little 
money-box  in  which  they  kept  their  treasures  was 
filled  with  bright  silver  pieces  which  the  little  boy 
had  earned.  Fate  seemed  suddenly  to  have  smiled 
on  them  and  prospered  them,  and  Faustina  began 
to  hope  that  Heaven  would  not  punish  her  as  she 
deserved  to  be  punished,  by  taking  the  child  away 
from  her,  —  this  gentle  boy  who  had  come  to  her 
when  she  was  in  trouble  and  despair;  who  had 
given  her  something  to  care  for,  to  work  for,  and  to 
think  of.  She  dared  to  hope  that  Providence  had 
sent  him  to  her  to  keep,  and  to  love  always,  and  to 
make  a  better,  gentler  woman  of  her.  She  was  one 
of  those  who  are  hardened  and  embittered  by  sorrow. 
Her  life  had  been  a  desolate  one,  but  it  had  been  so 
through  her  own  doing.  Yet  there  were  times 
when  the  softer  side  of  her  nature  rose  to  the  sur- 
face, and  she  felt  that  she  would  give  all  she  had  to 
show  Raffaello  how  much  she  loved  him ;  when 
she  longed  to  be  kind  and  gentle  with  him,  and 
teach  him  so  to  care  for  her,  that  he  should  never 
want  to  leave  her  for  anyone  else.  She  had  been 
afraid  to  do  this,  lest  sometime  the  day  would  come 
when  they  should  have  to  be  parted  from  one 
another,  and  all  her  old  sorrows  should  be  renewed, 
and  his  young  heart  grieved.  But  now,  it  was 


1 68  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

nearly  a  year  since  he  had  first  gone  from  the  seclu- 
sion of  his  earlier  childhood,  and  had  mingled  with 
other  people,  made  friends,  and  grown  familiar  with 
the  big  city ;  yet  no  one  had  guessed  the  truth,  no 
one  had  known  him,  he  was  still  hers.  Ah,  that  is 
what  Faustina  thought! 

She  had  had  many  secret  fears  during  that  long 
year  just  past.  She  had  passed  many  sleepless  nights 
for  thinking  of  the  danger  of  his  being  recognized. 
But  so  far,  all  her  terrors  had  proved  vain  ;  and 
to-night  she  was  hopeful,  and  she  determined  hence- 
forward to  trust  to  Heaven's  mercy  for  the  only 
sweet  thing  that  was  left  in  her  life,  and  to  show 
the  boy  that  he  was  her  only  comfort. 

When  he  returned  with  the  jug  of  water,  she 
drew  him  to  her  side,  and,  passing  her  arm  around 
him,  said,  - 

"  Kiss  me,  Raffaello !  " 

The  child  laid  his  head  close  to  hers. 

"  I  have  not  been  a  mother  to  you,  Raffaello  mio. 
Heaven  sent  you  to  me  long  ago,  to  comfort  me 
when  I  was  in  great  trouble,  and  I  would  not  be 
comforted.  But  now,  .if  you  will  only  love  me 
better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world,  I  will  be  a 
good  mother  to  you ;  I  will  try  to  make  you  forget 
that  I  have  not  always  been  kind." 


Camillo  entered,  and  made  his  best  bow." 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  171 

Raffaello  could  not  promise  to  love  Faustina 
better  than  any  one  else ;  there  was  already  some 
one  who  held  that  place  in  his  young  affections,  — 
the  beautiful  Francesca,  whom  he  had  seen  but 
twice,  but  whose  image  was  always  in  his  thoughts. 
Why  was  it  that  he  could  not  love  Faustina  like 
that?  since  he  had  to  live  with  her  and  be  near 
her  always.  Why  had  she  not  made  him  love  her 
before  ?  But  Faustina  had  not  foreseen  that  the 
child's  heart  could  not  be  turned  of  a  sudden  to 
her  after  those  years  of  loneliness ;  and  that  for 
very  need  of  the  tender  affection  which  he  had 
lacked,  all  the  ardor  of  his  young  soul  was  centred 
upon  a  fair  vision  whom  he  worshipped  secretly 
as  if  she  had  been  a  being  from  another  world. 

As  they  stood  there  together  in  this  near  and 
new  relation,  Faustina  hoping  that  all  would  be 
well,  and  Raffaello  wondering  why  it  was  not,  a 
dark  shadow  fell  across  the  doorway,  and  made 
them  both  look  up. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you,  Sor  cocchiere?  said  Faustina,  ris- 
ing as  Camillo  entered  and  made  his  best  bow  to 
her,  and  gave  his  usual  cheery  greeting  to  the 
little  boy, 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  sitting  down  and  running  Min- 
netto's  tail  between  his  fingers,  "  Camillo  is  like  a 


172  A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY. 

mushroom,  he  is  always  shooting  up  in  the  night- 
time. Yet  mushrooms,  you  know,  make  a  good 
sauce  for  men's  meat,  sometimes." 

44  You  will  make  a  good  sauce  to  ours,  if  you  will 
stay  and  eat  a  morsel  with  us,"  said  Faustina,  who 
was  in  a  kinder  mood,  and  who  was  beginning  to 
share  everybody's  opinion  that  Camillo  was  an 
honest  fellow:  and  the  best  of  company. 

44  Ecco !  Faustina,  Camillo  has  never  refused  a 
woman  anything,  and  it  would  be  late  to  begin  now, 
especially  when  he  sniffs  such  things  as  that  in  the 
neighborhood !  "  responded  he,  eying  one  of  Faus- 
tina's round  white  cheeses  on  the  table.  "  I  was 
on  my  way  from  leaving  some  visitors  at  Certosa, 
and  something  in  the  wind  —  it  must  have  been 
the  scent  of  your  fine  cookery  —  told  me  to  step 
in,  and  see  how  you  and  the  bimbo  fared." 

44  You  have  very  good  nostrils  !  "  said  Faustina, 
laying  another  plate  for  the  coachman. 

44  Ay,  and  very  good  luck,  too,  to  find  such  favor 
with  the  handsome  padrona  ! "  returned  Camillo, 
with  great  gallantry.  For  although  he  was  only 
.a  common  coachman  who  drove  a  battered  old 
hackney-coach  for  a  living,  and  who  dwelt  under 
the  roof  of  a  tumble-down  old  city  house,  he  had 
that  natural  kindliness  of  heart,  and  genial  spirit, 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  173 

which  made  it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  have  an 
enemy,  and  which  attracted  everybody  to  him,  even 
so  hard  and  unfriendly  a  person  as  Faustina. 

He  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table  when  Faustina 
had  brought  out  the  provisions  she  had  made  for 
their  supper,  and  he  waxed  so  jovial  and  amusing, 
and  praised  Faustina  and  the  neatness  of  her  house 
and  table  so  frankly,  and  was  so  gentle  with 
Raffaello,  and  played  such  comical  tricks  with  the 
cat,  that  he  at  once  established  himself  as  a 
friend  of  the  family,  and  won  Faustina's  enduring 
regard. 

Now,  whatever  it  was  that  Camillo  had  in  his 
mind,  when  he  came  to  the  little  hut  that  evening, — 
whether  it  was  really  only  to  pay  them  a  friendly 
call,  or  whether  it  was  for  a  hidden  purpose,  —  it 
would  be  very  difficult  to  say.  Camillo  was  such 
a  sly  old  fellow  that  one  could  never  quite  guess  his 
thoughts,  except  to  feel  certain  that  they  were 
always  honest  and  generous  ones. 

It  chanced  that  during  the  course  of  the  meal 
he  grew  so  confidential,  that  Faustina  was  moved 
to  talk  a  little  about  herself,  —  a  thing  she  had  not 
done  in  many  years.  She  was  in  a  softer  mood 
that  evening,  and  the  big  warm-hearted  coachman, 
with  his  kindly  face  and  genial  ways  and  pleasant 


174  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

laugh,  was  just  the  person  to  draw  out  her  sympa- 
thies, and  make  her  feel  that  he,  at  least,  was  a 
friend  whom  she  could  trust. 

"  Benedictions  on  you,  my  good  Faustina !  you 
have,  in  truth,  had  your  sackful  of  troubles ! "  ex- 
claimed Camillo,  with  feeling,  when  she  had  spoken 
of  the  death  of  her  husband  and  of  her  little  boy, 
and  of  how  she  had  been  left  alone  and  comfort- 
less for  many  years ;  "  but  trouble  is  like  the  ice- 
wind  from  the  Apennines,  —  it  blows  in  at  every- 
body's door,  and  chills  every  man's  marrow;  the 
rich  man's  as  well  as  ours.  We  all  have  a  taste  of 
it,  bless  you  !  and  it  is  an  evil-tasting  morsel  when- 
ever it  comes." 

"  Ah,  but  some  of  us  have  it  bitterer  than  the 
rest,  friend  Camillo.  The  rich  man  can  keep  many 
troubles  from  his  door;  and  those  he  cannot  keep 
wholly  away,  he  can  make  easier  to  bear.  Which 
is  better,  to  have  sickness  and  the  loss  of  dear  ones 
added  to  poverty  and  misery ;  or  to  have  wealth 
and  friends  and  comforts  left  to  console  you  ?  Do 
not  talk  to  me  of  trials  being  equal  here  below ; 
the  rich  and  the  great  have  everything  to  make 
them  forget  their  troubles  ;  the  poor  have  every- 
thing to  make  them  remember." 

"  Not  always  so,  Faustina.     Sometimes  the  great 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  175 

cannot  forget  their  sorrows  any  better  than  we; 
they  feel  and  suffer  just  like  us.  I  have  seen  much 
of  it  in  the  city  ;  for  there  the  hovel  and  the  palace 
stand  one  next  to  the  other,  and  one  can  see  out- 
side one's  own  windows,  and  find  that  others  have 
their  burdens  to  bear.  You  who  live  in  the  coun- 
try, with  no  other  neighbors  than  the  birds  and 
flowers,  that  are  always  happy,  think  yourself  ill- 
used,  indeed ;  but  look  about  you  in  a  city  like 
Florence,  and  you  will  find  thousands  who  would 
envy  you.  Ecco  !  I  am  thinking  now,  at  this  very 
moment,  of  a  certain  rich  old  man  in  Florence, 
who  would  give  all  he  has, — his  wealth,  his  fine 
lands,  and  his  great  name,  everything,  —  to  have 
this  pretty  bimbo  here  beside  you  !  " 

Faustina  started,  and  looked  at  the  coachman 
questioningly. 

"  Who  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  An  old  gentleman  of  the  nobility  who  has 
known  great  misfortunes,  when  you  talk  of  misfor- 
tunes and  of  losing  dear  ones." 

"  Lost  children  ?  "    inquired  Faustina. 

"  Ay,  children  and  grand-children,"  said  Camillo, 
with  a  look  that  was  full  of  mystery. 

"  All  dead  ?  " 

"  Ah,  worse  than  dead!  "   returned  Camillo. 


176  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Faustina, 
whose  face  had  suddenly  grown  white,  and  wore 
the  old  hard  look.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  worse 
than  dead  ?  " 

Camillo  felt  that  he  was  getting  very  bold,  and 
wiped  his  face  with  his  pocket-handkerchief  before 
replying,  - 

"  Ah,  friend,  it  is  a  long  story,  and  a  sad  story  ; 
I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  of  dismal  things,"  and 
he  cast  a  glance  at  Raffaello,  who  sat  listening  in- 
tently to  what  was  said.  "  Let  me  come  and  tell 
it  to  you  on  the  next  penitential  day,  when  you 
need  to  shed  a  few  tears  for  your  sins,  which  I  am 
willing  to  wager  a  pair  of  rabbits'  ears  are  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  confessing  !  " 

"  No,  tell  it  now,"  said  Faustina.  "  You  cannot 
make  me  waste  any  tears  over  other  people's 
troubles.  I  have  spent  them  all  on  my  own." 


IE  R  XI II 


'HE  coachman  finished  the 
bit  of  cheese  that  remained 
on  his  plate,  and  mopped  his 
face  again,  for  he  was  growing 
very  warm  with  the  prospect  of 
his  narrative.  He  leaned  far  back  in  his  chair, 
pressing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together,  and  gazed 
steadily  at  Faustina. 

"  Well,  it  happened  the  same  year  that  the  little 
Prince  of  Napoli  was  born.  You  remember  that 
was  in  the  winter,  and  the  other  took  place  just 
after  the  feast  of  the  Pasqua^  six  years  ago." 

"No,  I  do  not  remember,"  said  Faustina,  "any- 
thing that  happened  at  Florence  six  years  ago,  for 
I  was  out  of  Florence  then,  and  had  just  come  here 
to  live  with  Raffaello  alone,  and  shut  myself  away 
from  the  rest  of  the  world." 


1  Easter. 
12 


178  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  Ecco !  I  remember  it  well  enough.  All  Italy 
was  full  of  it,  and  Florence  talked  of  nothing  else 
for  two  years.  The  old  man  had  married  his  beau- 
tiful daughter  to  a  young  nobleman  of  very  high 
family,  and  they  often  went  to  Rome,  where 
she  was  greatly  admired  among  the  great  folk 
on  account  of  her  beauty.  The  old  signor  was 
very  proud  of  her,  and  would  never  hear  of  her 
staying  away  from  any  grand  feast.  They  had  two 
children :  a  little  maid  of  ten,  and  a  bambino  of  a 
boy,  scarcely  more  than  a  year  old.  That  year,  just 
before  the  Pasqua,  the  young  signora  and  her  hus- 
band went  to  attend  the  baptism  of 'the  little  prince 
at  St.  Peter's,  and  while  they  were  gone  the  terrible 
thing  happened." 

Camillo  paused  a  moment.  The  yellow  flame  in 
the  fireplace  flickered  once  or  twice,  and  lighted  up 
the  room,  so  that  he  saw  Faustina's  face,  still  white, 
and  intent  upon  him. 

"  It  was  spring,  and  the  time  when  the  people  flock 
out  to  the  beautiful  Gardens  of  Boboli,  on  account 
of  the  flowers  and  the  sunshine,  and  the  pleasant 
company  to  be  met  with  on  a  Thursday  afternoon. 
The  bambino  had  gone  there  with  his  nurse-maid, 
against  the  old  signor s  wishes,  who  would  not  allow 
his  grandson  to  be  seen  in  the  crowd  with  the 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  179 

common  popoli.  But  the  young  wench  had  a  lover 
to  meet,  some  good-for-nothing  soldier,  no  doubt, 
who  paid  her  such  violent  court,  and  blubbered  such 
a  pack  of  rubbish  in  her  silly  ears,  that  she  forgot  all 
about  her  little  boy,  who  had  just  learned  to  toddle, 
and  who  was  taking  this  opportunity  to  make  use  of 
his  little  legs,  and  was  running  away  from  her. 

"  The  last  bells  at  sundown  were  ringing,  and  the 
people  were  nearly  all  out  of  the  Garden,  before  she 
discovered  that  she  had  lost  him." 

Faustina  rose  from  the  table,  as  if  she  had  been 
struck,  and  walked  to  the  little  window  where  the 
moonlight  came  streaming  in,  and  stood  there  a 
moment  with  her  hand  on  her  heart,  and  her  face 
turned  away  from  Camillo.  The  good  coachman 
watched  her  closely.  It  was  getting  harder  and 
harder  for  him  to  proceed  in  his  narrative ;  his  own 
kind  heart  was  very  sore  for  her. 

"Ah,  Faustina,  I  see  that  I  must  stop;  you  are 
beginning  to  be  weary  of  my  story,"  he  said. 

"  No ;  go  on,  now  that  you  have  begun.  Tell  it 
all  1 "  she  said,  with  a  desperate  ring  to  her  words. 

"Shall  I  go  on,  Raffaellino  mio?  "asked  Carfiillo 
of  the  little  boy. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Camillo,  tell  us  more  about  the  bambino. 
Was  he  really  lost  ?  I  want  to  hear  it  all,"  whis- 


I  So  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

pered  Raffaello,  who  was  now  standing  close  to 
the  old  coachman,  and  was  drinking  in  his  every 
word. 

"  Lost,"  repeated  Camillo. 

"And  was  he  never  found  by  anybody?"  asked 
Raffaello. 

"  Santa  Maria !  They  searched  the  gardens  night 
and  day  for  a  week,  they  dragged  the  fountains, 
fearing  he  had  fallen  in,  they  scoured  the  city,  and 
dragged  the  Arno ;  the  nurse-maid  went  crazy  with 
fright,  and  could  never  tell  straight  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  how  he  had  slipped  away  from  her. 
The  whole  country  was  on  the  hunt ;  but  never  a 
sign  or  a  rag  did  they  ever  find  of  him,  not  even  so 
much  as  a  little  shoe,  though  some  said  he  had 
been  gored  by  a  mad  bull  that  had  just  escaped 
from  Al  Prato." 

"  Did  they  ever  think  he  had  been  stolen  ?  "  asked 
Faustina,  coming  back  to  the  table. 

"  At  first,  they  thought  it ;  but  when  they  had 
offered  fortune  after  fortune  to  anyone  who  would 
bring  the  child  back,  and  no  one  ever  came,  they  all 
believed,  like  noodles  that  they  were,  that  he  had  in 
some  way  got  into  the  river  and  been  carried  off  to 
the  sea.  That  is  the  way  with  these  Florentine 
magistrates ;  everything  they  don't  know  what  to  do 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  181 

with,  they  put  into  the  Arno.  Grellotta  /  how  the 
men  did  stand  and  dispute  about  the  matter,  in  the 
piazzas  every  day  at  noon !  But  disputing  did  no 
good,  and  the  poor  bambinetto  was  given  up  for 
drowned,  and  there  were  more  masses  said  over  the 
little  innocent  than  would  be  needed  to  take  a  regi- 
ment of  bad  paste  like  me  out  of  Purgatory.  Then, 
the  matter  was  forgotten  by  every  one  but  the  old 
signer  and  the  young  mother  and  father,  and  the 
pretty  little  signorina,  who  was  just  old  enough  to 
know  she  had  lost  her  baby-brother." 

"  And  when  did  they  stop  the  search  ? "  asked 
Faustina. 

"  Stop  it?  not  till  the  father  and  mother  were  both 
in  their  graves,  she  with  grieving,  and  he  with  hav- 
ing caught  the  fever  searching  like  a  madman  down 
in  the  low  countries  near  Napoli,  that  summer. 
Now  there  is  no  one  left  but  the  old  signor  and  his 
grand-daughter ;  but  though  the  one  is  an  old  man 
and  the  other  a  young  girl,  I  think  their  hope  is  not 
quite  dead.  It  is  hard  to  believe  death  till  we  see 
it;  and  they  are  always  hoping  to  find  their Jittle 
one.  Ah,  it  is  pitiful  to  see  them  always  going  to 
church  in  their  splendid  carriage,  looking  so  broken- 
hearted in  spite  of  their  riches  and  their  coronets ! 
What  comfort  do  you  think  riches  bring  to  them, 


1 82  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

when  they  think  day  and  night  that  the  child  of 
their  own  flesh  and  blood  is  somewhere,  perhaps, 
in  this  big  world,  living  in  poverty  and  want,  while 
they  are  rich  !  " 

Camillo  looked  very  hard  into  Faustina's  dark 
eyes  as  he  said  this,  and  she  looked  back  into  his, 
and  the  two  remained  silent  until  Camillo  saw  that 
something  glistened  on  the  edge  of  her  black  lashes. 
Then  he  turned,  and  met  Raffaello's  face  close  to 
his. 

"  It  is  my  signorina!"  whispered  the  child. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  Signorina  Francesca,  whom  you 
saw  praying  at  the  Annunziata,  and  who  was  in  the 
queen's  procession  that  day." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  little  Raffaello,  clasping  Camil- 
lo's  hand  more  tightly. 

"  Now,  Faustina,"  pursued  the  coachman,  return- 
ing the  little  boy's  caress,  and  making  his  voice  as 
gentle  as  he  could,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  ill-repaid 
Faustina  for  her  hospitality, "  I  have  not  told  you 
this  to  grieve  you ;  but  I  know  that  you  women  are 
all  tender-hearted,  and  that  if  you  heard  the  story, 
you  could  not  refuse  what  I  am  going  to  ask." 

"  What  can  you  ask  of  me  ?  "  groaned  Faustina. 
"  Is  it  not  I  that  am  at  your  mercy  ?  Speak  then." 

"  Not  so,  good  friend,  it  is  you  who  must  grant 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  183 

the  favor.  I  leave  it  to  your  own  heart  whether 
you  can  refuse  it  or  not." 

Faustina  made  no  reply.  Her  heart  seemed  to 
have  stopped  beating,  and  she  was  trembling,  not 
so  much  with  fear  that  Camillo  knew  the  whole  of 
her  dismal  story,  but  with  a  sense  of  wretchedness  at 
the  sudden  flight  of  all  the  hopes  she  had  cherished 
but  a  moment  ago. 

"  Not  long  ago,"  continued  Camillo,  "  the  old 
signor,  who  thinks  of  nothing  but  his  affliction,  took 
a  fancy  that  he  would  like  to  have  a  picture  of  a 
child  resembling  his  little  grandson.  He  hunted 
all  the  galleries  of  Florence,  and  had  pictures 
brought  to  him  from  everywhere;  but  he  found 
nothing  until  one  day  he  chanced  to  see  one  of 
Mariotto's  paintings,  and  admired  it.  Then  he  said 
to  the  Signorina  Francesca,  '  I  will  have  that  artist 
paint  us  a  picture  that  will  look  like  our  child,  a 
face  with  your  eyes  and  your  mother's  smile.' 

"  The  order  was  given  to  Mariotto  for  a  picture 
of  an  angel  leading  a  little  child,  and  the  old  signer 
promised  that  if  it  pleased  him,  he  would  make 
Mariotto's  fortune.  When  it  was  finished,  and  the 
old  man  saw  the  face  of  the  child,  he  fell  on  his 
knees  before  it,  and  cried,  '  That  is  like  my  son ! 
That  is  like  Francesca!  Bring  the  child  who  bears 


184  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

that  face  to  me,  and  let  me  look  upon  him  living. 
No  matter  who  he  is,  or  where  he  comes  from,  I  will 
make  a  son  of  him,  and  he  shall  share  my  heart  and 
fortune  with  Francesca!' 

"  And  now,  Faustina,"  and  Camillo  lowered  his 
voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  "  is  it  not  for  you  to  say 
whether  Raffaello  shall  go  to  comfort  the  old  man 
who  is  broken  in  body  and  spirit,  and  who  has  suf- 
fered even  more  than  you  ?  I  know  that  you  are  a 
good  woman,  and  that  you  will  do  what  is  right.  If 
you  should  choose  to  say  he  shall  not  go,  and  no 
one  should  come  to  force  you,  and  I  should  promise 
to  hold  my  tongue  forever,  you  might  perhaps  keep 
the  child,  for  every  one  thinks  the  bimbo  was 
drowned  in  the  Arno,  you  know.  But  think  of 
the  sinfulness  of  it!  You  must  speak  from  your 
heart." 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  Faustina,  who 
had  never  cared  for  others'  sorrows,  and  who  was 
now  called  upon  to  give  up,  of  her  own  free  will,  the 
one  precious  thing  of  her  life  for  another's  happi- 
ness !  No  wonder  she  wavered  between  right  to 
the  child  and  right  to  herself,  after  her  long  years  of 
hard  feeling  and  revengeful  bitterness.  She  had 
always  said  to  herself,  when  her  conscience  troubled 
her  sorely,  "  I  have  not  stolen  the  child.  He  came 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  185 

to  me ! "  Then,  she  knew  nothing  of  him ;  but 
now,  if  she  kept  him  in  spite  of  everything,  it  would 
be  stealing  him ;  he  would  suspect  her,  and  she 
would  never  win  his  love !  Her  hard  hands  were 
clenched  and  her  teeth  were  set.  She  felt  desper- 
ate and  ready  to  do  any  mad  thing,  until  she  felt 
Camillo's  hand  touch  hers,  and  his  kind  voice 
whispered  in  her  ear, — 

"  Courage,  Faustina,  the  Holy  Madonna  will  help 
you ! " 

The  contact  with  that  generous  upright  nature, 
the  sympathy  expressed  in  his  tones  and  touch, 
turned  the  tide  of  Faustina's  feelings.  She  held 
out  her  hands  to  the  little  boy. 

"  Come  here,  Raffaello  mio"  and  she  folded  him 
in  her  arms.  "  You  are  that  little  child.  That  old 
man  is  your  grandfather !  " 

Raffaello  uttered  a  cry,  and  threw  both  his  arms 
about  her  neck. 

"  You  came  to  me  in  the  Gardens  that  night,  and 
I  brought  you  here  to  live  with  me,  because  I  had 
lost  my  own  little  son ;  and  I  tried  to  believe  it  was 
God  that  sent  you  to  me.  Now  you  have  found 
your  kindred,  and  you  must  go  to  them.  They 
are  rich  and  powerful ;  they  will  make  you  very 
happy.  Only  forgive  me,  Raffaello,  for  having  kept 


1 86  A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 

you  from  them  so  long,  and  try  to  think  kindly  of 
poor  Faustina ! "  and  she  laid  her  face  against  his, 
and  wept  again. 

"  Dear,  dear  Faustina!"  cried  the  child,  suddenly 
finding  that  he  loved  her  very  much  now,  and 
trying  to  com£ort  her.  "  Don't  feel  sorry,  please. 
You  have  been  so  good  to  me ;  I  shall  never  forget 
you ;  and  I  want  you  to  be  happy  too ! " 

"Brava!  brava!"  cried  Camillo,  who  felt  that 
they  had  been  dismal  long  enough,  and  who  never 
felt  at  ease  in  a  dull  atmosphere.  "  Everybody  will 
be  happy  to-morrow;  and  there  will  be  festa  and 
rejoicing  all  over  the  city ;  and  dame  Faustina  will 
be  made  a  duchess,  or  some  such  fine  thing,  for 
having  found  the  baby  Barborello,  and  saved  him 
from  the  jaws  of  that  mad  bull.  Hola  !  Alleluia ! " 
and  he  tossed  up  his  glazed  hat,  which  had  been  put 
on  the  floor  beside  him,  with  such  a  flourish,  that 
Minnetto,  who  had  been  taking  a  nap  in  the  crown 
of  it,  took  such  a  sommersault  as  he  had  not  had 
for  many  a  day ;  and  then  retired  to  the  back  of 
Faustina's  chair  with  an  injured  expression,  and  in 
evident  disapproval  of  such  familiarity. 


TVTEVER  had  the  world  looked 
so  bright  and  the  day  so 
joyous  to  little  Raffaello,  as  it  did 
on  the  following  morning,  when  he 
and  Camillo  made  their  way,  hand  in  hand,  up 
the  steep  road  that  stretched  northward  beyond 
the  Porta  San  Gallo.  Behind  them  the  city  lay 
nestling  close  together  in  the  broad,  beautiful  val- 

o  o 

ley,  with  its  cathedral  and  palace  towers  gilded  red 
with  the  first  touch  of  early  sunlight,  and  the 
Arno  curling  its  silvery"  way  between  the  gray 
stones,  and  Galileo's  Tower  rising  on  the  opposite 
slope,  from  out  the  rich  new  growth  of  vineyards 
and  olive-orchards  and  budding  mulberries.  Before 
them  rose  the  most  fertile  side  of  the  great 
Apennines,  mantled  with  young  fields  and  hoary 
cypresses,  and  studded  here  and  there  with  pretty 
villas  and  flowered  terraces;  and  higher  still,  fair 


1 88  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

Fiesole  lying  like  a  gem  on  the  bosom  of  the  green 
mountain. 

Raffaello,  being  a  child  of  Tuscany,  with  an 
inborn  love  for  all  that  is  beautiful,  would  have  car- 
ried a  glad  heart  that  morning,  amid  this  surround- 
ing loveliness,  even  if  he  had  had  no  other  reason 
for  being  happy.  But  the  great  mystery  of  his 
childhood  had  at  last  been  solved.  All  that  he  had 
sought  so  long  to  understand,  was  now  made  clear, 
and  his  greatest  childish  hope  was  fulfilled.  He 
would  live  always  with  the  beautiful  signorina;  she 
was  his  sister;  she  would  be  fond  of  him,  and  never 
look  sad  again,  and  he  would  have  the  right  to  love 
her  dearly.  Raffaello  never  lost  the  remembrance 
of  that  early  silent  walk,  when,  with  his  hand  in 
Camillo's  warm  grasp,  his  heart  gladdened  by  his 
familiar  friends,  the  wild  myrtle  and  the  arbutus, 
whose  scent  filled  the  air,  he  turned  his  back  for- 
ever on  all  his  childish  loneliness  and  longings,  and 
went  forward  to  meet  a  new  life  of  happiness ! 

Camillo  doubtless  felt  as  much  as  Raffaello,  if  not 
more,  that  morning;  for  he  was  silent,  and  that 
was  very  unusual  with  him.  As  he  went  panting 
and  puffing  up  the  steep  mountain-road,  growing 
redder  at  every  step,  he  was  thinking  of  poor 
Faustina,  sitting  alone  in  her  hut,  and  of  what  a 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  189 

hard  thing  it  must  have  been  for  her  to  give  up  the 
little  boy  whom  she  had  loved  and  reared  from  his 
babyhood ;  and  he  was  wondering,  too,  with  a  secret 
chuckle,  if  there  was  not  a  way  in  which  he  might 
console  Faustina,  and  make  her  loss  easier  to  bear. 
Faustina  was  a  fine  woman,  there  was  no  question 
as  to  that,  Camillo  thought.  She  had  proved  it  by 
the  way  she  had  given  up  the  bimbo ;  and  now  he 
must  look  about  him  for  some  means  of  keeping 
her  from  being  too  lonely. 

But  Faustina,  sitting  alone  with  her  cat  that 
morning,  was  not  so  disconsolate  as  Camillo  sup- 
posed. To  her  own  surprise,  there  was  no  bitter- 
ness in  the  thought  that  Raffaello  was  2fone  from 

o  o 

her,  to  be  with  those  who  would  cherish  him  and 
make  him  happy.  She  had  often  looked  forward  to 
that  time  with  terror;  yet,  now  that  it  was  come, 
and  through  her  own  consent,  she  felt  that  blessed 
peace,  the  consciousness  of  having  done  right,  which 
is  ever  the  reward  of  an  unselfish  deed.  She  had 
prayed  humbly  and  penitently  for  the  first  time  in 
many  years  ;  and  her  prayers  had  been  heard.  She 
was  comforted  and  almost  happy,  far  happier  than 
she  had  ever  been  when  her  whole  heart  and  mind 
had  been  intent  upon  avenging  herself  of  her  bitter 
fate.  Raffaello  had  promised  to  make  her  happy, 


190  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

and  never  to  forget  her.  He  had  a  noble  generous 
nature.  Perhaps  he  would  love  her  more  because 
she  had  suffered  for  his  sake.  When  they,  his 
people,  learned  that  she  had  received  him  when  he 
came  to  her  to  fill  the  gap  in  her  own  broken  heart, 
perhaps  they  would  not  think  so  ill  of  her,  and 
would  let  him  be  kind  to  her.  They  were  rich  and 
great,  she  was  lowly  and  poor,  and  they  might  pity 
her.  She  was  no  longer  proud  and  resentful.  She 
had  learned  that  such  feelings  bring  no  joy  to  any 
one.  She  had  learned  of  the  simple,  large-hearted 
Camillo  that  the  only  way  to  be  truly  happy  is  to 
think  much  for  others  and  little  for  self. 

When  Raffaello  and  his  companion  had  climbed 
nearly  half-way  up  the  road  which  leads  from  Flor- 
ence to  Fiesole,  they  stopped  in  front  of  a  tall  gate- 
way, fancifully  wrought  in  iron,  and  hung  from 
two  huge  pillars  surmounted  with  gryphons.  The 
gardens  were  enclosed  with  high  stone  walls  that 
hid  from  the  passer-by  all  the  loveliness  within. 
But  Raffaello,  through  the  open  fret-work  of  the 
big  gate,  caught  glimpses  of  a  beautiful  villa  rising 
high  among  the  trees,  and  of  a  winding,  flowered 
walk  leading  up  to  it ;  of  fair  white  statues  and  spark- 
ling fountains,  dotting  the  bright  green  terrace. 

"  Is  this  the  place  ?  "  inquired  Raffaello,  timidly. 


This  is  the  villa  Barborelio  ! 


A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY.  193 

"  This  is  the  villa  Barborello  !  "  returned  Camillo, 
trying  to  assume  an  air  of  unlimited  confidence,  but 
in  reality  feeling  a  trifle  nervous  and  abashed  at  his 
proximity  to  all  this  magnificence.  He  pulled  out 
his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  face  several 
times,  and  then  brushed  the  dust  from  Raffaello's 
boots  and  his  own,  and  coughed  very  loud  and 
unnecessarily  once  or  twice,  before  making  up  his 
mind  to  put  his  hand  to  the  bell. 

Before  he  had  time  to  ring,  the  tall  iron  gate 
swung  open,  and  they  saw  the  grand  carriage  with 
the  old  signor  and  the  lovely  Francesca  sitting  in 
it,  just  appearing  down  the  winding  drive-way. 
Camillo  was  surprised  into  immediate  action.  Step- 
ping forward  as  the  horses  were  nearing  the  gate, 
he  doffed  his  shiny  hat,  saying,  with  an  air  of  grave 
importance,  — 

"A  thousand  pardons,  your  excellence!  a  word 
with  you  and  the  fair  signorina!" 

Seeing  the  child  with  Camillo,  the  old  nobleman 
ordered  his  coachman  to  stop,  a  triumph  which 
caused  the  old  sti-eet-cocckiere  to  tingle  with  grati- 

o  O 

fication.  That  such  a  stiff-necked,  silver-buttoned, 
powdered-wigged  individual  as  the  Barborello  coach- 
man should  be  ordered  to  stop  for  him  !  With 
growing  courage,  he  approached  the  carriage-door, 
and  said,  presenting  Raffaello,  — 

13 


194  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

"  This  is  the  bimbo  that  Mariotto  painted  in  your 
picture.  With  your  excellency's  and  the  signorinas 
permission,  I  have  brought  him  here." 

"  Ah,  let  me  see  this  little  man  whose  face  was 
good  enough  to  be  put  in  Mariotto's  picture,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  getting  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
taking  Raffaello's  face  between  his  hands. 

"  It  is  not  only  his  face  that  is  handsome,  your 
worship!"  exclaimed  Camillo,  greatly  encouraged 
by  this  reception.  "  Let  your  nobleness  but  look 
at  his  legs !  as  fine  and  straight  as  a  little  prince's ! 
There  are  not  many  such  among  our  common 
people,  else  my  name  is  not  Camillo!" 

The  signorina  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
Raffaello,  and  he  went  to  her  as  naturally  as  a 
flower  turns  to  a  sunbeam.  He  was  too  full  of 
happiness  to  utter  any  words.  She  led  the  way 
to  a  rustic  seat  under  some  trees,  at  a  distance,  in 
the  garden.  The  old  man  watched  them  both 
attentively. 

"He  is  wonderfully  like  Francesca !  wonderfully 
like  her;  the  dark  curling  hair,  the  lustrous  eyes, 
the  upward  turning  of  the  lips !  Truly,  Mariotto's 
picture  is  perfect !  " 

Camillo  stood  at  a  respectful  distance,  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  ogling  and  blinking  alternately, 


A   CHILD    OF  TUSCANY.  195 

and  burning  to  be  more  closely  questioned.  But 
the  old  signor  was  absorbed  in  studying  Raffaello's 
face,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  presence 
of  the  cocchiere.  He  remained  silent,  till  his  eyes 
rested  on  something  that  hung  and  glistened  around 
the  little  boy's  neck. 

"  What  is  that?  "  he  exclaimed,  starting  suddenly, 
and  laying  his  trembling  hand  on  the  gold-linked 
chain  and  the  small  round  medal  that  Faustina  had 
taken  out  of  the  locked  box  and  placed  round 
Raffaello's  neck  that  morning  before  he  left  her. 
It  bore  the  face  of  the  Virgin  on  one  side,  and 
the  yellow  coronet  of  the  house  of  Barborello  on 
the  other;  another  medal  like  it  hung  on  Fran- 
cesca's  breast. 

"  It  is  our  lost  child !  O  Holy  Saints,  our  little 
Nino  returned  to  us,  after  these  years  of  waiting 
and  praying!  Tell  me,  good  man,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  Camillo,  "  tell  me  if  it  is  so ;  whether  it  is 
I  who  have  lost  my  senses !  " 

Francesca  hastened  to  soothe  the  old  man,  who 
stood  white  and  trembling  at  the  discovery,  and  laid 
her  hand  gently  on  his  forehead,  whispering,  — 

"  Dear  grandfather,  I  am  sure  it  is  our  little 
one  come  back  to  us.  I  know  it  by  the  love  I 
feel  for  him.  Listen,  and  this  kind  friend  will  tell 


196  A   CHILD    OF   TUSCANY. 

us  all  he  knows  about  it,  will  you  not,  good  Camillo  ?  " 
and  she  turned  to  the  coachman  with  a  pleading 
smile. 

"  O  signorina  mia  ! "  cried  Camillo,  '*  I  would 
tell  you  all  I  know  and  more  too,  if  it  took  me  the 
next  minute  to  Purgatory,  to  see  that  look  in  your 
sweet  face !  I  am  only  a  poor  cocchiere  who  lives 
in  a  garret  with  his  old  madre,  and  does  not  meet 
with  the  gentility  face  to  face  every  day.  But  as 
sure  as  I  am  standing  before  you,  I  said,  the  first 
time  I  ever  saw  that  bambino  in  the  Piazza  Santa 
Maria  del  Fiori,1  '  There  's  a  little  pigeon  fallen 
out  of  its  nest ! '  and  the  next  time  I  saw  him 
buying  gay  beads  for  Faustina  at  the  mercato,  I 
said,  '  I  '11  go  in  search  of  the  parent  birds,  no 
matter  how  high  they  fly ! ' 

And  then  Camillo  told,  in  the  finest  language 
he  could  command,  how  with  cautious  and  secret 
investigation  he  had  learned  more  and  more  of 
the  little  fellow;  of  his  lonely  life  with  Faustina 
and  the  mystery  that  seemed  to  hang  about  him  ; 
and  remembering  the  loss  of  a  child  in  a  great 
family,  some  years  ago,  and  making  note  of 
Raffaello's  beauty  and  fine  features,  and  his  resem- 
blance to  the  beautiful  signorina,  which  he  had  seen 

1  The  Cathedral  Square. 


"  It  is  our  lost  child  !     O  holy  saints !  " 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  199 

at  a  glance  that  day  at  the  Church  of  the  Annunzi- 
ata,  he  was  satisfied  that  the  whole  mystery  was 
in  his  keeping.  Th'en  he  related  how  he  had  been 
to  see  Faustina  and  drawn  her  story  from  her,  and 
the  confession  that  Raffaello  was  the  child  who  was 
lost  long  ago  in  the  Gardens  of  Boboli.  He  told 
how  she  herself  was  suffering  and  desperate  then, 
and  how  the  little  helpless  thing,  toddling  towards 
her  with  its  arms  outstretched  and  clutching  at  her 
dress,  seemed  to  have  been  sent  to  her  from 
Heaven ;  and  how  she  had  prayed  to  be  forgiven  for 
having  caused  others  to  sorrow ;  how  she  had 
striven  to  do  right  by  the  boy,  and  loved  him  as 
much  as  it  was  left  in  her  heart  to  love  any  thing 
or  creature. 

Camillo's  recital  was  very  touching,  for  he  could 
be  as  pathetic  at  times  as  he  was  droll,  and  he 
felt  deeply  for  poor  Faustina.  The  old  man  was 
moved  with  compassion.  He  had  no  thought  of 
being  angry,  or  of  punishing  the  woman  who  had 
taken  Raffaello  when  he  had  come  to  her  unbidden, 
and  cared  for  him,  and  saved  him,  perhaps,  from 
worse  ills  than  that  of  falling  to  the  shelter  of  a 

o 

humble  widow's  hut.  He  was  too  grateful,  and  had 
suffered  too  long  in  patience,  to  cherish  any  other 
feeling  than  that  of  joy  at  the  strange  recovery  of 


200  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

his  little  grandson,  and  the  mysterious  answering 
of  his  prayers. 

He  held  the  child's  hand  in  his,  as  if  afraid  of 
losing  him  again,  and  every  now  and  then  looked 
into  the  young  face  with  an  expression  of  doubt. 

"  Tell  me,  Francesca,  that  I  am  not  dreaming," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  fair  signorina.  "  Tell  me  that 
our  lost  one  is  found,  and  that  we  three,  on  earth, 
shall  part  no  more !  " 

"  Fratello  mio" 1  said  Francesca,  sweetly,  " speak 
to  our  father;  tell  him  that  you  will  never  leave 
us!" 

Raffaello  laid  his  cheek  close  to  the  old  man's. 

"  Yes,  I  will  always  stay  with  you,"  said  he.  "  You 
are  .my  grandfather,  and  she,  the  beautiful  sig- 
norina, is  my  sister.  Faustina  has  said  so,  and 
Faustina  knows  better  than  any  one,  does  she  not, 
Camillo?" 

"  Surely,  your  sweet  excellence,"  responded  Ca- 
millo, suddenly  realizing  the  grandeur  of  Raffaello's 
position,  and  never  lacking  in  respect. 

"  It  will  make  me  very  happy  to  live  with  you 
here,  in  this  beautiful  home.  But  we  must  not  for- 
get Faustina.  She  must  be  made  happy  too.  She 
has  been  good  to  me,  and  worked  for  me,  and  I 
have  promised  never  to  forget  her." 

1  My  brother. 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY.  2OI 

"  She  has  been  good  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  signor. 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  she  was  very  unhappy  sometimes, 
because  we  were  so  terribly  poor,  and  she  could  not 
give  me  everything  she  wanted.  But  I  think  she  is 
very  fond  of  me." 

"  She  shall  never  be  poor  again !  "  said  the  old 
nobleman,  rising.  "  Francesca,  Raffaello,  my  chil- 
dren, give  me  each  a  hand,  and  let  us  return  to- 
gether to  our  home.  And  you,  good  Camillo,  take 
my  coach  at  the  gate,  and  ride  as  fast  as  my  horses 
will  take  you  to  fetch  Faustina.  You  shall  all  have 
your  reward." 

There  was  an  affectionate  parting  between  Ca- 
millo and  the  little  heir  of  Barborello,  which  seemed 
in  no  way  out  of  place  to  anyone  but  the  coachman 
and  the  footman,  still  in  dignified  waiting  at  the 
gate.  Then  the  three  walked  slowly  toward  the  villa, 
while  the  honored  cocchiere  bounded  into  the  aris- 
tocratic carriage  with  the  ease  and  air  of  a  prince, 
and  gave  his  orders  to  the  "canary-colored  legs,"  as 
he  called  them,  feeling  that  this  was,  indeed,  the 
most  glorious  hour  of  his  coachman's  career. 


TT  was  not  many  hours  before 
A  the  whole  city  of  Florence 
was  thrown  into  a  tumult  of 
joyous  excitement  at  the  news  that  the  little  son  of 
the  great  house  of  Barborello  had  been  brought  back 
to  the  home  of  his  parents  by  a  certain  lucky  cocchiere* 
who  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  take  the  whole 
credit  of  the  matter  to  himself.  Camillo  sprang 
into  immediate  prominence,  and  his  name  was  on 
every  tongue,  as  if  he  had  been  the  most  important 
person  in  the  whole  affair.  Like  all  great  and  con- 
spicuous personages,  he  had  often  to  meet  with 
many  envious  and  sour  remarks,  from  the  mouths 
of  those  who  had  been  less  shrewd  than  he.  For 
weeks  after,  he  could  not  ride  through  the  city  on 
the  top  of  his  brand-new  coach,  cracking  his  whip 
in  the  air  in  his  usual  jocose  spirit,  without  hearing 
all  around  him  cries  of:  "Ola!  there  he  goes,  there 


A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  203 

goes  the  gentleman  cocchiere,  who  holds  festa  with 
the  nobility  !  Ha,  ha,  ha,  where  's  your  other  hat, 
Camillo  ?  Come,  come,  boys,  light  your  pipes  at  the 
end  of  his  nose ! " 

But  Camillo  was  in  too  good  a  humor,  and  too 
well  satisfied  with  himself,  to  take  offence  at  their 
silly  jests.  He  would  only  crack  his  whip  the 
harder  over  their  heads  and  shout,  "  Via,  via,  you 
pack  of  sour  crabs ! " 

In  truth,  Camillo's  star  of  good  fortune  seemed  to 
be  shining  very  brightly  now,  and  he  could  scarcely 
contain  his  happiness  at  the  successful  issue  of  his 
great  scheme.  There  were  the  old  signor  and  the 
pretty  signorina  and  little  Raffaello,  all  three  living 
together  at  the  grand  villa,  as  happy  as  any  one 
could  wish ;  and  there  were  Faustina  and  he  and 
the  madre,  and  Minnetto  and  the  parrot,  actually 
making  one  family,  and  in  possession  not  only  of 
the  hut,  enlarged  and  embellished  into  a  veritable 
little  villa,  which  was  the  envy  of  all  the  neighbors 
at  Galluzzo,  but  also  of  a  large  and  flourishing 
garden  around  it,  with  grape-vines  and  fig-trees  all 
their  own ;  every  bit  of  it  the  gift  of  the  old  signor, 
who  had  followed  Raffaello's  wish  that  Faustina 
should  be  made  happy. 

Camillo,  not  wishing  to  be  backward  in  this  mat- 


204  A   CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

ter,  at  once  endeavored  to  persuade  Faustina  that 
she  could  not  live  alone  any  more,  and  that  he  was 
the  only  person  in  the  world  who  could  rightly  pro- 
tect her,  and  make  Raffaello's  absence  bearable,  be- 
cause of  the  interest  and  love  they  both  had  for  the 
little  fellow.  And  as  Faustina  had  already  learned 
to  admire  the  good  Camillo,  and  had  seen  the  folly 
of  shutting  herself  away  from  the  many  kind  souls 
there  are  in  the  world,  she  made  little  objection. 

She  soon  found  that,  after  all,  life  could  be  made 
very  pleasant,  when  people  were  kind  and  thought- 
ful toward  one  another,  and  laid  aside  their  own 
troubles.  For  Camillo,  who  had  been  a  good,  duti- 
ful son,  proved  a  no  less  kind  and  faithful  husband, 
and  he  and  Faustina  lived  very  peaceably  and  con- 
tentedly together  for  the  remainder  of  their  days. 

But  I  really  cannot  say  as  much  for  Minnetto  and 
the  parrot,  who,  I  grieve  to  record,  led  a  life  of 
mutual  misunderstanding  and  strife ;  for  Coco  very 
soon  evinced  a  wicked  fondness  for  tweaking  poor 
Minnetto's  tail,  whenever  the  old  cat  lay  snoozing 
comfortably  in  some  favorite  corner.  Minnetto  was 
not  accustomed  to  tail-pulling;  he  never  had  been 
accustomed  to  it,  and  to  change  his  habits,  at  his 
time  of  life,  was  asking  too  much.  Whenever  Coco 
grew  too  unbearably  familiar,  Minnetto  would  quietly 


A   CHILD   OF   TUSCANY. 


205 


retire  to  some  inaccessible  spot  on  the  chimney,  or  on 
a  cornice  in  the  wall,  and  from  there  look  down  with 
disdain  upon  the  enemy;  while  Coco  would  strut 
up  and  down  the  room  in  fine  rage,  his  eye  cocked 
on  one  side,  trying  to  lure  Minnetto  back  with  his 
finest  flow  of  parrot-language. 

But  it  was   not  only  Camillo  and   Faustina  who 
were  made  happy  by  the  change 
in     little     Raffaello's    fortunes 
Not    one    of    his    old    friends 
was    forgotten,     and 
each    one,    in    some 
way,  had  a  share  of 


his  bounty.  Luigi  and  his  brothers  received  a  hand- 
some new  market-cart  and  a  fine  young  donkey  of 
a  most  amiable  disposition,  to  take  old  Pierrota's 
place.  Even  Giojoso's  stall  was  supplied  each  spring 
with  fresh  vegetables  from  the  rich  oldens  o'f  the 

O  O 

Barborello  ;  and  as  they  cost  him  nothing,  his  profits 
grew  very  large,  so  that  he  was  soon  able  to  retire 
from  business. 


206  A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY. 

And  Mariotto,  the  young  artist,  was  set  up  in  a 
beautiful  new  studio,  with  plenty  of  models  and 
canvases,  and  the  beautiful  things  he  loved  to  have 
around  him.  He  painted  many  pictures  that  were 
hung  and  admired  in  the  Academy,  and  he  grew 
rich  and  famous  very  fast. 

As  for  little  Raffaello  himself,  I  think  he  was 
the  happiest  of  them  all ;  to  feel  that  all  those  who 
had  been  his  friends  were  now  made  happy  through 
him  ;  to  be  so  loved  by  the  old  signor  and  the  lovely 
Francesca;  to  know  that  with  them  he  had  a  home 
which  held  blessings  he  had  so  long  missed,  was 
reward  enough  and  happiness  enough  for  him. 

For  how  sweet  is  the  happiness,  dear  children,, 
that  comes  to  us  after  we  have  known  trouble ! 
How  much  more  do  we  appreciate  blessings  for 
having  felt  the  lack  of  them ;  how  grateful  do  we 
learn  to  be  for  every  good  thing  that  comes  into 
our  lives  when  we  have  been  taught  its  true  worth 
by  suffering!  And  ought  not  we  to  believe  that 
the  trials  that  come  to  us  in  this  world  are  sent  for 
a  purpose  to  our  good ;  and  that  if  we  bear  them 
dutifully  and  in  patience,  we  may  see  the  good  of 
their  teaching  even  in  this  world ;  that  it  is  only 
God's  own  wise  and  merciful  way  of  dealing  with 
us? 


A  CHILD   OF  TUSCANY.  2O7 

I  think  that  little  Raffaello's  joy  in  being  re- 
stored to  the  dear  ones  he  had  lost  so  long,  was 
in  no  way  lessened  for  having  spent  those  lonely, 
almost  sad  years  of  his  childhood  in  Faustina's 
humble  home.  Those  years  had  taught  him  a  great 
lesson,  and  moulded  his  young  nature  for  gentleness 
and  mercy.  He  was  rich,  and  in  time  he  grew  to 
be  powerful;  but  in  his  greatness  he  never  forgot 
the  people,  the  dear,  simple,  humble  people  whom 
he  had  known  and  loved ;  and  he  never  ceased  to 
work  for  their  good,  because  he,  himself,  had  been 
one  of  them. 


THE    END. 


A     000  062  455     1 


